


Party For One

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (but neither of them are actually ace), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Eddie's oral fixation, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Porn With Plot, Richie's dad bod appreciation, Riding, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Talking During Sex, also crying, but does that mean they have their shit together? no, discussion of asexuality, i did my best for u, kind of, that's right i'm BACK, the people said: i want that twink obliterated, with a VALENTINE'S FIC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-18 22:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22567867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Perhaps, Eddie thinks, all is not lost. Maybe Richie can be convinced that Eddie is someone he wants to have sex with. All Eddie needs to do is...seduce him.It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. What better time to seduce your own boyfriend?---OR: Eddie is beyond horny and is hellbent on Getting Some. Richie is under the assumption Eddie isn't into sex. Neither of them talk about it, because they're morons.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 415
Kudos: 1443
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

Eddie wakes up, as he usually does, five minutes before his alarm is supposed to go off. 

It’s not that surprising, because it’s not actually that early. Eddie’s workday starts at 9, and his office is a fifteen-minute drive from his and Richie’s apartment. It’s not an amazing job, he took a significant pay cut when he moved here, but it _is_ closeby and low-stress, so he likes it. And the proximity means he doesn’t have to get up at six in the morning like he used to. He now sets his alarm for a much more reasonable seven-thirty, which is still half an hour earlier than he _really_ has to get up. It’s nice. 

It’s especially nice on nights when he sleeps in Richie’s room, now that they’re actually _together_ and he _can._ And on those mornings, like this one, he can pick up his head blearily, reach for his phone, and turn off the alarm before it even goes off, and then lay his head back down to just...bask, a little. Eddie thinks after forty years of misery he deserves a little basking. 

It’s warm under the covers, and Eddie worries a little that he’ll fall back asleep, but he doesn’t think he will. Richie is a solid, steady weight next to him, breathing slow and deep, and there’s soft grey light falling in through the window. It’s February, and cold as fuck in Chicago, but Richie puts out heat like a fucking furnace. He’s bare-chested right now—gets overheated if Eddie’s in his bed and he’s wearing a shirt—and that’s just fine with Eddie, tucked into his side as he is. Eddie kisses his shoulder softly, stretches out next to him, wraps an arm around his thick waist. Everything about Richie is broad and thick and soft, and Eddie loves it, finds it unnaturally enticing and indulgent. Richie was really self-conscious about it at first, seemed to think that because Eddie is thin and wiry that he wouldn’t be into his heavier body type. But Eddie has not been shy about showing his appreciation. 

He’s not shy now, rubbing his thumb over the edge of Richie’s soft middle, curling his fingers around his love handles. He’s so warm, and he smells so nice—not like anything in particular, just like Richie, and Eddie’s disturbingly into it—and Eddie can’t help but mouth lazily over his shoulder and bicep, the closest things he can reach. His skin is soft and Eddie likes the feel of it against his lips, likes rubbing his mouth over the sprays of freckles there. 

The thing about touching Richie, though, is that it awakens something in Eddie every time, and that’s the need to touch Richie _more._ Eddie never considered himself a tactile, physical person, never really expressed himself through touch, but that was because he was repressed and traumatized. After Derry he was maybe a little needy, always craving some kind of reassurance that he wasn’t alone and that people liked him, and hugs became commonplace among the Losers, and especially from Richie. And then they got together and that really opened the floodgates. Eddie is obsessed. He’s got a hunger he cannot sate. Also an oral fixation. 

All of this to say, after a couple minutes of running his hand up and down Richie’s side and kissing his shoulder messily, Eddie decides that isn’t enough anymore, and bodily drags himself over Richie to lie on top of him. That seems to be the only amount of contact that can really scratch that ever-present itch—full-body. Richie huffs against Eddie’s hair as he tucks his face into the crook of Richie’s neck, and Eddie settles in, feeling Richie’s barrel chest rise and fall against his, feeling the softness of his stomach, the warmth of his torso through Eddie’s shirt. He tangles their legs together, tucks his hands up under Richie’s armpits, and then retracts them so that he can lift himself up a bit and hitch up the front of his shirt. Like this, when he lowers himself down again, his stomach and chest are pressed directly up against Richie’s, and _god,_ that’s nice. Deeply intimate, and also viscerally satisfying, the way the soft curves of him press into Eddie, warm and human. Eddie wants to sink into him. His mouth starts seeking skin again, like a vampire—his lips meet the slope of Richie’s neck where it meets his shoulder and he sucks a kiss there. 

Richie hums and shifts beneath him. His big, warm hands come up to settle on Eddie’s waist. Eddie smiles, and sucks more kisses into his neck and shoulder, and Richie rubs circles into his hips with both thumbs. “Morning,” Richie says, voice low and raw and hoarse. “Happy Valentine’s.”

Eddie makes a vague sound in response—he hadn’t even remembered the holiday. He and Richie have only been together since August. Last February they were still firmly in repression mode. 

“Are you giving me a hickey right now?” Richie rumbles, and Eddie can feel his voice vibrating through his chest. 

“No,” Eddie says, kissing the dip of his throat. “I could if you wanted, though.”

Richie chuckles softly, palms running down over his ass to curve over the backs of his thighs. “Nah, I have important meetings…eventually.”

“Not today,” Eddie says, because he _knows_ Richie’s schedule. 

Richie yawns in his ear. “Not today,” he agrees. “But yes tomorrow, so unless you can give me a hickey that’ll be gone in twenty-four hours, which I know you can’t—”

Eddie rolls his eyes and bites the edge of Richie’s collarbone gently, and then kisses down the centre of his chest, lips scrubbing over the soft hair there, following the gentle dip between his pecs. He has to squirm down Richie’s body for this, stomach dragging over Richie’s, and then over his crotch. He can feel Richie’s morning wood against his abs. Richie doesn’t mention it, but Eddie’s mouth waters, a little. 

“Eds,” Richie groans, arching his back up against Eddie’s mouth. “Will you come back up here?”

“Bossy,” Eddie says, scratching his nails up Richie’s sides. “Your mouth is gross.”

“Too bad, it’s Valentine’s Day.” Richie grabs at his shoulders. “Make out with me.”

“I’m going to invest in some bedside mouthwash,” Eddie says, slithering his way back up Richie’s chest. “If it’s too gross, I’m making you go brush your teeth.”

“You’re so boring,” Richie sighs amorously, and then pulls Eddie in to kiss his mouth. 

Eddie honestly doesn’t mind morning kisses as much as he always says he does. In theory, it’s fucking gross, but in practice he always ends up forgetting about that in favour of kissing the living _hell_ out of Richie. As a man with a fairly recently discovered oral fixation, Eddie just _really_ likes making out, and would make many exceptions for the sake of kissing more. For example, it’s currently the time when his alarm would be going off, but Eddie is stubbornly ignoring that in favour of threading his fingers into Richie’s hair and catching Richie’s lower lip between his own, licking at it gently. Richie hums out his pleasure, opens his mouth against Eddie’s, tips his chin up into it. 

Eddie doesn’t really know if Richie is a good kisser, because his experience is limited to boring women he was really not into, but he thinks he must be, because Eddie _really_ likes kissing him. It’s everything he always thought making out must be like, as a kid, with the added bonus of Richie’s morning stubble rubbing into his jaw, rasping against his own. Which is something he honestly likes a lot more than he thought he would. In any case, kissing Richie is a fucking revelation. It lights Eddie up inside, zings down his spine, curls heavy and warm in his stomach. It’s addicting, makes Eddie _hungrier_ the more he does it, a deep aching want that settles in his throat and makes his fingers itch, his toes curl. It makes him groan softly, bite at Richie’s mouth, mouth moving sloppily, insistently. 

Richie smiles between kisses, hands moving restlessly up and down Eddie’s back, dragging between his shoulderblades. Eddie catches a hand that curves around the side of his neck and holds it there, traces Richie’s knobby knuckles with his thumb as he tilts his head to the side to fit their mouths together, trace the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue. 

Richie makes a pleased noise, sucks gently on Eddie’s lip as he squeezes Eddie’s hips with his thighs. It feels good, like Richie wants to keep him there, and Eddie fits so well into the cradle of his hips. And, of course, the movement presses Eddie tighter against Richie’s crotch, and that is _always_ a plus.

He pulls away to catch his breath for a second, and takes that opportunity to shift his hips down, just a fraction, to feel the hard shape of Richie’s cock through his boxers. He swallows thickly, heat pooling lower in his stomach, but then Richie catches his mouth in another kiss, and another, and Eddie gets distracted. He gets too caught up in the way Richie’s breath hitches in his throat, and the soft wet sounds of their mouths connecting and reconnecting, and the way Richie’s hands skim down his back, over his ass. Eddie is hot all over, and his stomach rubs up against Richie’s, and his hands run obsessively over Richie’s shoulders and chest and jaw. Eddie is so into him it’s ridiculous. And Richie is so _indulgent_ when it comes to making out. Like he’d gladly do it for hours. 

Eddie thinks he would, too, right up until Eddie trails sticky kisses up his jaw to his ear, and then takes the edge of his ear very gently between his teeth. Richie groans and squeezes two big handfuls of Eddie’s ass, and they grind into each other instinctively, hot and slow. Eddie moans threadily, and Richie freezes up. Eddie pulls back to look at him, breath coming a little hard. 

_Eddie_ is a little hard. He is...more than a little hard. And he’s not the only one. His pulse thrums in his throat and blood rushes in his ears. Richie still hasn’t let go of his ass, and instead is looking straight at him, mouth bitten red and lips parted, eyes blown, chest heaving. He can feel Richie’s cock, thick and hot, pressing against his hip through their boxers. Insanely, Eddie’s only thought is _holy shit. This is it. This is finally it._

And then Richie shakes himself a little, and grins, and smacks Eddie’s ass lightly. “Okay, get off,” he says. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

Cold disappointment washes over Eddie, and he tries desperately not to let it show, rolling his eyes and climbing off of Richie carefully, so that they don’t press together more than they have to. The tent in Richie’s boxers is very clear as he sits up and stretches, feeling around for his glasses. He leans over and kisses Eddie’s forehead, tickles him under the chin. 

“Be right back,” he says, voice too chipper for how hoarse it is, three seconds post-makeout. He stands up, adjusts the front of his boxers conspicuously. “Don’t ask me what I’m doing in there,” he adds with a laugh, and then tosses Eddie an annoying wink before disappearing into the attached bathroom. 

Eddie flops back onto the mattress and groans. 

A second later, the shower starts up, and Eddie’s dick twitches. “God, _stop,”_ he mutters, glaring at it. Something cold and dark curls in his stomach as he listens to the shower run. Eddie _knows_ that Richie jerks off in the bathroom, probably. He’s always _known._ But it sucks to know for _sure_ , when Eddie is lying on Richie’s bed, hard and frustrated and alone. It’s just, it’s fucking _dumb,_ he feels like a fucking teenager and he hates it. 

The thing is, they’ve been together for...something like six months, now. And they haven’t even—they haven’t even done _handjobs._ This was the closest they’ve gotten to doing _anything_ in _six. fucking. months._ And Eddie is horny as hell and he doesn’t know what he’s doing _wrong._

At first he thought maybe Richie just had some hangups about sex, and specifically about having sex with men. Which was _fair_ and Eddie obviously didn’t push it. He has and has previously had a hell of a lot of hangups of his own. That’s why he goes to therapy. But Richie’s said a lot of things since then that have made it clear that that _isn’t_ the case with him. He likes sex. He’s into sex. He’s had pleasant sex with other guys who aren’t Eddie in the past and it wasn’t traumatizing. 

So Eddie thought maybe it was just that Richie didn’t want to have anything that could be misconstrued as casual sex anymore or whatever. So he waited. But now it’s been _six months._ And nothing. No more than a little ass groping, and as soon as things get hot and heavy, Richie backs off and disappears to the bathroom or whatever, like the idea of having sex with Eddie is revolting. Eddie was fine with taking it slow, but this is _too much._ They’re forty fucking years old. They pined like fucking idiots for years, and now they’re together, and Eddie is lying on the fucking bed while Richie jerks off in the shower. What the fuck is _wrong with him?_

Eddie takes a deep breath and lets it out slow, unclenches his hands. He just, he might have to face the facts, here. That Richie...just doesn’t want to have sex with him. That he likes sex, but just not with Eddie. Eddie thinks that if it was anything else, Richie would have _told him._ The only reason Richie wouldn’t have told him is if he knew it would crush Eddie, but now Eddie’s just had to figure it out on his own, which fucking _sucks._ Because now Eddie is lying on Richie’s bed, horny as hell, and Richie isn’t _into him like that._

Which is—fair. Eddie desperately tries to convince himself that he can’t hold that against Richie. It’s not his fault. Eddie...Eddie doesn’t find himself very sexy, either. He doesn’t, he doesn’t think he’d be that into the idea of having sex with himself, either. He just, he thinks it’s a little unfair that Richie didn’t fucking _tell_ him, beforehand, before Eddie let himself think about it so much. Maybe then he wouldn’t be this fucking _horny_ all the time. Also, fuck Richie just a little bit for not even giving Eddie a _chance._ Maybe Eddie’s fucking _great_ at sex. He wouldn’t really know, but. Richie might have at least tried it one time, pretended it wasn’t _such_ a repulsive idea, and _then_ decided it wasn’t for him. 

Eddie sighs heavily, shakes his head, rubs the heel of his palm over his dick a little too hard. It’s fine, he tells himself firmly. It’s fine, because they’re together, they’re in love, and making out is nice, too. It’s really nice, Eddie loves it, it’s all worth it because Eddie gets to kiss him every day and Richie still holds his hand, smiles at him, holds Eddie when they sleep. Eddie doesn’t, he doesn’t _need_ to have sex with him. He’s just cranky and frustrated and turned on right now, but he doesn’t need to have sex with Richie to be happy. He can just, he’ll just jack off on his own, like Richie. Right now, he’s going to jack off right now, right here in Richie’s bed, because he’s going fucking _feral_ with how horny he is and the bed smells like Richie and Eddie can still feel the ghost of Richie’s dick pressing into his hip and right now Richie is in the shower getting off under the spray of hot water and _god_ , Eddie’s going to lose it. He’s going to fucking lose it, thinking about Richie’s hand on his own dick, leaning against the tiled wall, breathing hard. 

Eddie pushes a hand into his boxers, wraps his fingers around his cock, hisses at the pressure. God, he’s fucking hard, and there’s been a damp patch on the front of his boxers since he and Richie were making out. And it’s not hard for Eddie to work himself up even more, stroking himself steadily, with all this sense memory of Richie underneath him, the shape and feel of his body, his strong arms, his big hands. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and lets his mind flick between thoughts of Richie touching himself and of Richie touching _Eddie_ , rubbing his hands over Eddie’s thighs, his ass, his cock. Using his big fucking mouth for something other than talking, god, Richie kissing along his hip to his cock, swallowing him down— Richie sucking a hickey into his inner thigh— Richie pushing a slick finger between his cheeks—

Fuck, Eddie squirms at the thought, gasping as he twists his hand over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness gathering at the tip. He spreads his legs wide, kicking the blankets off of them, pulling up the hem of his shirt to rub over his stomach with his free hand, remembering the feeling of Richie’s torso against it. He thumbs over his own nipple gently, twitches into it, strokes his cock faster. He thinks about Richie doing this, right now, in the shower. Touching himself, stroking his big fucking cock, thumbing over the head, running his hand over his chest, finding all the spots on his body that make him jerk and moan. _Fuck_ , he’s so hot, and Eddie wants him so fucking bad. He wants Richie on top of him, under him, kissing him, touching him. He wants Richie to find all of _Eddie’s_ sensitive spots and exploit them mercilessly until he’s shaking and moaning. He wants Richie’s tongue on his chest and down the centre of his stomach and on his thighs, on his cock, between his cheeks. God, _fuck,_ Eddie doesn’t even know what Richie’s into, but Eddie wants it all, wants to try everything, strokes his cock hard and fast thinking about all the things he wants Richie to do to him. Wants to be completely _wrecked_ by him. 

He comes hard, gasping, all over his hand and stomach. His spine arches with it, and he groans, stroking himself through it, breathing hard. He licks at his dry lips as he shivers through the aftershocks, like he can taste how good it feels. _Shit._

He starts coming down a few seconds later, and then he immediately feels gross and kind of guilty. If Richie doesn’t want to have sex with him, he probably doesn’t want Eddie jerking off in his _bed._ God. 

He plucks a few tissues from the bedside table without moving, wipes himself off, chest still heaving. He tucks himself back into his boxers, and then settles his arm over his eyes, hating the feeling of sweat cooling on his body post-orgasm. Felt fucking _good,_ though. 

The bathroom door swings open, and Eddie jerks his arm down guiltily to look at Richie, who is standing in the doorway, staring at him. Eddie must still look like a fucking mess, his legs still spread, his skin still flushed. It’s really fucking obvious, what Eddie was doing in here. There’s no hiding it. 

But instead of looking disgusted or angry, Richie’s eyes flash, and he looks… _hungry_. His lips are parted, and he licks them quickly. His eyes rake over Eddie’s body. His throat bobs. He looks, for a split second, like he’d eat Eddie alive. Eddie’s cock twitches feebly. 

And then Richie blinks and clears his throat and says, “I’m gonna go make you Valentine’s breakfast,” and fucking _runs for it._

Eddie tries to catch his breath and thinks about what just happened _very_ hard. Richie...did not look bothered by the sight of Eddie all flushed and post-orgasmic in his bed. He looked _interested._ Eddie thinks he definitely might have looked interested. 

Perhaps, Eddie thinks, all is not lost. Maybe Richie _can_ be convinced that Eddie is someone he wants to have sex with. All Eddie needs to do is...seduce him. 

It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. What better time to seduce your own boyfriend?

***

Richie doesn’t think he exhales until there are eggs frying in the pan. The oil spits at him and he jerks back, and then stops, breathes, runs his fingers through his hair. _Shit._ He hadn’t been expecting that, when he’d come out of the shower. Usually by the time he comes out, Eddie has already disappeared to his own room to get changed or to wash his face in the half bath. But today he was still there in Richie’s bed and he is _so hot,_ it made Richie lose his mind a little. And it had—Richie really thought it looked like Eddie had been jerking off, right before Richie came in.

He’s thought so a couple times before, too, that it looked like Eddie had been jerking off, or sounded like it, or whatever. Richie tries not to dwell on it _too_ much. He looked it up once, if people who aren’t into sex still like jerking off. Because Eddie isn’t. Into sex. He told Richie once, right at the beginning of their relationship. They were making out, and Richie was getting kind of handsy and grabbing Eddie’s ass and maybe pressed a little too firmly between his cheeks, over his jeans. And Eddie jerked and squirmed and made some interesting faces and then that same evening he told Richie he’d never really been into sex. Never really liked it. Or looked for it. Or enjoyed it when he had it, historically. 

And Richie had just swallowed thickly and nodded and never brought it up again. He’d been disappointed, at first. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about having sex with Eddie before they got together. Eddie is fucking hot as hell, and has such a nice ass...and Richie does crave that closeness. That connection. But he’s gotten used to the idea. If Eddie doesn’t like it, he’s not going to push. Richie had a girlfriend in college once who didn’t like sex, which was fine with Richie because he didn’t really like sex with _women_ that much. She was very firm that it wasn’t a trauma thing or a lesbian thing or any kind of thing other than just not liking sex, so Richie understands. 

It’s just...it’s too bad. But making out is nice and it isn’t like Richie can’t still _think_ about Eddie when he jerks off. He just doesn’t tell Eddie about it in case it makes him uncomfortable. But he thinks about it a _lot._ Maybe Richie will get tired of his hands eventually, but they can talk about that when the time comes. Plus, he can look into toys, maybe. And he’s not a teen anymore! He’s had plenty of sex. It’s not like he missed out on ever having sex. Just...sex with Eddie. 

But that’s okay. Eddie doesn’t want it. But _god,_ fuck, seeing Eddie all spread out and wanton on the bed, with his shirt rucked up and his skin all flushed… So fucking hot. Richie almost had to go jerk off _again._ He almost did. 

All the websites he saw said that some people who aren’t into partnered sex still like solo stuff, it really just depends. As he pokes at his eggs and sticks bread in the toaster, Richie wonders vaguely if Eddie would ever let him watch. But he goes all hot and dry-mouthed just thinking about that, so he focuses on breakfast instead. It’s Valentine’s Day and despite the lack of sex that will take place he will non-sexually romance the _fuck_ out of this man whom he has lured into his bed and his life. Because Richie fucking loves him! And Richie wants him to feel comfortable and happy and cared for! He is Richie’s dream man, sex or no sex, and he is the love of Richie’s life, and he’s not really that romantic, but fuck it, Richie is allowed to be gross today. Maybe he’ll fuck around and get some roses or something. Bring Eddie lunch at work. Leave a cute-ass note in his jacket pocket. Kiss him on his embarrassed little nose. 

He hears Eddie coming into the kitchen behind him, and Richie schools his face into something presumably not-sneaky and not-horny before turning around to grin at him. 

He freezes instantly when he sees Eddie coming in through the doorway, rubbing a hand through his damp hair, wearing—of all fucking things—one of Richie’s shirts, unbuttoned and open over his chest, and his tiny fucking red _shorts._

“Hey,” Eddie says, eyes flicking over him curiously. “What are you making?”

Richie has to swallow twice before he can croak, “Eggs.”

Eddie hums, and then crosses the kitchen to open the fridge door, bending at the waist to open the produce drawer at the bottom. It gives Richie a _ridiculously_ good view of his ass, thighs flexing below the hems of his shorts. Richie could just, fucking...sink his _teeth_ into them. His hands itch to reach out and grab him. 

He clears his throat as Eddie fishes around for a carton of strawberries. “Why aren’t you, uh, dressed for work?”

“Mmm.” Eddie turns around and plucks a strawberry from the carton, takes a slow bite out of it and then sucks the juice from his thumb. Without even _washing it first._ Richie thinks he might be losing his mind. “It’s a holiday,” Eddie says, voice light. “I called in sick.”

Richie gapes openly. Eddie has six paid sick days a year at his new job, and Richie expected him to save them until he heard there was some kind of flu outbreak. He didn’t even take his _birthday_ off of work. 

Eddie blinks his huge fucking eyes at Richie innocently. “Watch the toast,” he says. 

“Uh-huh,” Richie says vaguely, watching strawberry juice drip down the side of Eddie’s hand until Eddie licks it up delicately. 

Eddie smiles and steps up right in front of Richie, his feet bumping up against Richie’s. He sets the strawberries down next to the stove, and then curls a hand around the back of Richie’s neck and pulls him down into an absolutely fucking _scorching_ kiss, his free hand sneaking up under the hem of Richie’s shirt to brush over his stomach. Richie makes a pathetic sound into it, knees going weak as Eddie licks into his mouth filthily. He tastes like toothpaste and strawberries. Richie can barely breathe. 

And then Eddie breaks away, and grins, and says, “The toast, Rich.” And then he grabs the strawberries again and steps away to bring them to the sink, and Richie turns dumbly to the toaster, mind buzzing with shock and arousal. Jesus _Christ._

Richie really kinda wishes Eddie was into sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELL YEAH VALENTINE'S FIC. sorry this is so dumb. yes i am an ace person writing this. don't ask questions. 
> 
> (and yes, i am indeed the same anonymous person who wrote [Stupid Deep et al.](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1512914) if you were wondering)
> 
> ((thanks @ sam for all ur help thus far))


	2. Chapter 2

Eddie is pleased by the reaction he gets at breakfast. 

It was a good idea, he thinks, using one of his hard-earned sick days for this. The moment in Richie’s bed was a good start, and Richie’s always had a thing for Eddie’s shorts, and he’s been watching Eddie pretty intensely all morning, but he has to keep the ball rolling. He can’t afford to leave for work for nine hours. 

The actual act of eating breakfast doesn’t leave much room for seduction, if that’s really what Eddie’s going for. Richie made them eggs on toast, which was cute of him, but it’s not exactly a sexy thing to eat. He licks sticky jam off his wrist when he accidentally gets a smear there, but Richie is so focused on his own food that he doesn’t even notice. Eddie frowns and drags his toes up Richie’s shin, and that makes him look up, but he just smiles cutely and then turns back to his meal. Bastard. 

As soon as they finish eating, Richie is standing up, gathering their plates. “I’ll wash up,” he says, brushing one hand through Eddie’s hair, curling now as it dries from his quick shower. 

Eddie bats at his hand instinctively. “Fuck off, you already cooked breakfast, and I’m not even working.”

“Eddie my love,” Richie sings, smiling all warm and fond. “Let me do the damn dishes if I want to. You clean the rest of the house.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. Damn him. “I can help.”

“No. You take your scantily clad ass somewhere else, it’ll take like five minutes.” Richie grins, and kisses the top of his head, and then retreats to the sink to fill it with hot water. 

Eddie makes a show of sighing and trudging away to the adjacent living room to flop onto the couch, but he’s hiding a smile the entire way. It’s annoying, how cute Richie is, all the fucking time, without even trying. He’s just _like that._ It’s especially annoying when Eddie is trying to get _fucked._ He’s ruining Eddie’s somewhat pathetic attempts to be sexy. 

He watches Richie in the kitchen over the back of the couch, chewing on his lip. He needs...he needs Richie to want to have sex with him. He needs to think of something that will make Richie want to have sex with him, and it’s _not_ easy. What the fuck does Eddie know about being desirable? He obviously hasn’t been doing a very good job of it so far, or for literally the past forty years. Eddie’s not a _virgin,_ but it’s not like he’s had people lusting after him his entire life. 

He tries, a literally desperately, to think about the things that make him want to have sex with _Richie._ But the answer is: everything. Stand there. Hum and wiggle his hips while he does dishes. Have shoulders. Squeeze Eddie’s ass. Obnoxiously, Eddie always wants to have sex with him when Richie squeezes his ass. 

He also always wants to have sex with him pretty much any time they touch in general, though. But, he thinks, it’s heightened with skin-to-skin contact. That’s what _really_ gets Eddie going—or, least, one of the things. 

“Hey,” he calls to Richie in the kitchen, not giving himself time to overthink it. “Rich, are your shoulders still bothering you?”

“Hmm?” Richie looks up from where he’s letting the water out of the sink. “Uh, I don’t know. Not as much anymore, but I think maybe they’re permanently fucked up from forty years of bad posture.”

Eddie snorts. “Come over here,” he says. “I’ll give you a back massage.”

“Oh?” Richie looks surprised, but not unpleasantly so. He wipes his hands on a dish towel and walks over on bare feet. “For real?”

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie says. “Lie down.”

Richie snorts softly. “I think just shoulders is fine, Eds. The rest of me is relatively okay.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Lie down, you annoying fuck. It’s Valentine’s Day.”

Richie grins brightly, but he moves into the living room towards the stretch of carpet in front of the coffee table, stripping out of his t-shirt. Eddie hands him a throw pillow from the couch, and he lies down on his stomach on the carpet, arms to his sides. “Have at it, hot stuff,” he says, voice slightly muffled. 

“God, Richie, you are so annoying,” Eddie says, swinging one leg over Richie’s hips to sit on the backs of his thighs. 

Richie makes a quiet, surprised sound. As if Eddie’s going to kneel beside him, like they’re strangers. “There’s, uh, lotion in the—”

“I know where the lotion is, dumbnuts, I live here.” Eddie stretches to reach the shelves under the coffee table, where there’s body lotion tucked away next to an extra throw blanket. Eddie gets fucking dry skin in the winter. “It’s gonna be cold.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, and then holds his breath until Eddie has his hands on him, slippery with lotion. 

He starts off easy. Eddie’s actually pretty fucking good at massages—he has strong hands and has had enough massage therapist appointments for chronic back and neck pain to know how it works. He rubs his palms up and down Richie’s back to warm up the muscles, enjoys the feeling of Richie’s thick, soft thighs under his ass, the soft expanse of his back under his hands, the slope of his wide shoulders. Resists the urge to stretch out over top of him, kiss the nape of his neck and run his tongue down his spine, feel the warm, solid shape of him. He focuses on increasing the pressure of his hands slowly, and then starts using his thumbs to knead into stiff muscles, over and over. Richie groans softly, and Eddie swallows hard, rubs firm circles into the dip of his lower back, puts his back into it. Richie squirms under him, and slowly, very slowly, Eddie moves his hips forwards, until his crotch is pressing into the swell of Richie’s ass. 

Richie doesn’t react immediately, and Eddie isn’t sure how obvious it is. He’s only kind of half hard, and it’s not like he’s grinding against him. But Eddie keeps his crotch there as he leans over to press his thumbs along Richie’s upper spine, and the motion does kind of rock him up against Richie. At the same time, Richie makes a soft sound, half pain and half pleasure, and it makes Eddie’s mouth a little dry. 

“God, fuck, Eddie,” Richie mutters, back flexing. 

Oh, holy shit. Eddie forgot to think about how much this would affect _him._

He clears his throat, tries not to think about Richie saying his name like that. “You’re tense as a fucking bowstring,” he says, rubbing the heel of his palm up his spine. “No wonder your shoulders are fucked.”

“Shut up,” Richie says. “Feels good.”

Eddie swallows thickly. “Yeah? You like it?”

Richie just hums, and then whimpers softly as Eddie kneads into a knot just under his shoulder blade. Eddie bites his tongue and leans into it, feeling his stiffening cock rub up against his ass through their clothes. There’s no way he doesn’t notice it at this point. 

His knees are tight against Richie’s hips, and the only sound in the room is the soft noise of Eddie’s shorts rubbing against the fabric of Richie’s sweats. Richie’s back is warm and soft and broad under his hands, but Eddie can’t help but wish there was more skin, that they were wearing less clothes, _no_ clothes. God, the idea of doing this naked, working up to something more, grinding his cock into the cleft of Richie’s ass instead of just pushing the bulge in his shorts up against him. It makes Eddie hot with lust, makes him tilt his hips on the next upward stroke. 

“Oh my god,” Richie breathes. “ _Eddie.”_

Eddie can only make a soft sound, not daring to break his rhythm, practically holding his breath. He’s one step away from humping Richie’s ass at this point, and it’s _fucking_ good. His cock drags more than a little suggestively over the curve of Richie’s ass. Pleasure builds slow and warm in his gut, and Richie gasps. Eddie’s having trouble focusing on the fucking massage. Richie’s hands are sneaking up to palm the sides of Eddie’s legs. Eddie’s mouth is watering. 

“Eds,” Richie groans. “Okay, I think that’s enough.”

Eddie thrums with triumph. He swings his leg back over Richie’s thighs to kneel beside him, flushed with excitement. With another groan, Richie sits up, shaking out his arms. He licks his lips and looks at Eddie. Tension crackles between them. 

And then Richie smiles a little, almost apologetically, and leans in to kiss Eddie’s forehead. “Thanks, babe,” he says lightly, and the tension shatters. “I’m gonna, uh, go rinse off. Or else I’ll get bacne or something.”

Eddie goes hot with frustration and embarrassment. Richie hauls himself to his feet, looking anywhere but at him. He holds his wadded-up shirt in front of himself. He’s definitely hard. Eddie _knows_ he’s hard. What the _fuck._

“Leave the door open,” he says, purely on instinct. He’s not exactly sure what his goal is, but he thinks it’s only partially fueled by spite. 

“Huh?” Richie says, freezing. 

Eddie wrinkles his nose, trying to rub the heat from his cheeks. “I need to wash this off my hands,” he says. 

Richie blinks. “We have...two other sinks in this house, Eds.”

“I need something from in there,” Eddie says, maybe a little snappishly. God, he’s fucking pissed, and _horny,_ and it’s his own fault. What was he _thinking?_

“Oh, okay,” Richie says weakly. “I can just wait…?”

“No, go ahead.” Eddie sniffs. “Just leave the door open.”

Richie opens his mouth, and then closes it. He makes a small, frustrated sound. As if he has _any_ fucking right to be frustrated, when Eddie’s the one sitting here on the floor after making a complete idiot of himself, still hard as a fucking rock. 

And then Richie walks off, towards the bathroom, and Eddie sighs and picks himself up once he’s gone, adjusting the front of his shorts. He trudges into the bathroom once Richie’s already in the shower, listening to him fumble around under the water behind him as he stares at himself in the vanity mirror. His cheeks are still flushed. He looks like a total moron. 

He thinks, briefly, about getting into the shower with Richie, pressing him against the tiled wall, pressing his hard cock into Richie’s hip, slick and hot. But he feels kind of gross about the forceful imagery behind it, when the context is that Richie left him in the living room on purpose. Eddie feels bitterly jealous of other couples, just for a minute—couples who can shower together, can slip into each other’s private space without thinking they’ll be kicked right back out. He’s never even properly seen Richie’s dick. 

God, and isn’t that just a fucking joke. He’s never even seen the dick he wants this badly! It’s pathetic! He’s just out here, lusting over a dick he’s only ever kind of felt pressed up against him through several layers of fabric. And Richie’s in there, not even wanting to _feel_ him. Little...fucker. _God,_ Eddie wishes he didn’t want him so fucking bad. 

He sighs harshly in frustration, rakes his fingers through his hair, and walks out of the bathroom and into his own room. He pulls something out of his bedside cupboard with the same sense of triumph he felt when he thought Richie might really be into him. Fuck Richie Tozier’s dick that he hasn’t even _seen._

***

When Richie steps out of his cold, uncomfortable shower, Eddie is nowhere to be seen, which is good because now Richie is miserable _and_ horny. He didn’t have enough time to jack off, even though he _sorely_ needed to after Eddie’s massage. God, that asshole has no idea what he does to Richie. He was seriously about to pass out from sheer arousal at how Eddie felt pressed up against his ass, literally maybe an hour after the last time Richie jacked off thinking about him. He’s killing Richie today.

Maybe he’s just imagining it, he thinks, towelling off his hair messily as he tries to will away his stubborn half-boner. Just because Eddie’s hot and it’s Valentine’s Day and like...teenage hormones are in the air or something. That doesn’t mean anything’s really that different today versus any other day. Except that Eddie’s wearing his tiny little track shorts. And still hasn’t properly buttoned up his shirt. God, no wonder Richie’s losing his mind. 

But it’s fine—he’s good. Eddie just probably doesn’t realize what it does to him, since he’s not really into this whole thing. But Richie’s not going to tell him. One day of torture may be enough to fuel his spank bank for the next six years. That sense memory of Eddie rutting up against his ass? Pure gold. Richie is going to hold it near and dear to his heart for the rest of his life. He will bleed that memory _dry._

But that doesn’t help the blue balls he is suffering _now._ Really, he’s just. Horny beyond all reason. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply as he pulls his clothes back on over clammy skin. 

And then he walks out into the kitchen, and all he can see is the big, violently purple dildo sitting on the counter, next to the sink. He gapes at it, mind going blank and buzzing a little. “Uhhhh. Eddie?”

“Hm?” Eddie’s in the living room again, sitting slouched in the armchair, legs spread wide, looking at his phone idly. 

Richie swallows thickly. “Is this— What’s this?”

Eddie barely even glances at him, one eyebrow cocked. “It’s a dildo.”

Somehow, hearing the word out of Eddie’s mouth is more jarring and more arousing than Richie ever could have imagined. “I mean,” he says, around the lump in his throat. “I can see that, but what is it— Is it— Yours?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, completely unbothered. “I have to remember to boil it later. You have to boil these things Richie, it’s sex toy sanitation 101.”

Richie doesn’t respond— _can’t_ respond, completely speechless. He just stands there in the kitchen, staring at the dildo sitting proudly on his counter, like it fucking owns the place. He starts sweating instantly, one fucking minute after his second shower of the day. Did Eddie—did he just use this? No, that doesn’t make sense. There wasn’t nearly enough time—Richie didn’t even manage a quick shower handjob. Did he use it this _morning?_ In Richie’s bed? That also doesn’t make sense, where would he have gotten it from? And Richie would have _seen it._ He could not have missed it. 

Was that what Eddie was washing in the bathroom, while Richie was in the shower? Is that why he took so long? 

Oh god. Just imagining it in Eddie’s hands, his strong fingers wrapped around it. Imagining it in Eddie’s _ass._ Shit. Richie had no idea Eddie was even _into_ ass play. On his own, obviously. This definitely confirms Eddie getting off on his own. Probably in his room, maybe on the nights when they don’t share a bed, or when Richie is out of the house. Lying down, or maybe sitting, like he is now, with his legs spread, only without the shorts, his cock hard and leaking, and his hands reaching past it to press the head of this silicone dick against his hole—

Oh, holy _fuck._ And it’s not even a tiny dildo, it’s fucking _hefty,_ it’s almost as big as Richie’s own dick, and Richie is not small. And literally all Richie can do is stand there and look at it and think about the way Eddie must look, using it on himself. The way he’d hold it in his hands, the way he’d bend and twist to push it into himself, maybe teasing his rim before pressing the head inside, sinking it deeper into himself. Richie’s mouth waters at the mental image of Eddie squirming around it, the way his rim would stretch around the girth, the way the smooth silicone would slide against slick skin. There’s a suction cup attached to the end, and Richie imagines him sticking it to his headboard, or the shower wall, fucking himself back against it, _fuck,_ moaning and whimpering and making desperate noises. 

God, _fuck,_ Richie wants to be the one fucking him with it, watching the way it sinks into him, the way he clenches around it and begs for it and comes on it. He wants to be the one _fucking_ Eddie, this dildo can’t make him feel good like Richie could, god, Richie would fuck him so well. He knows Eddie doesn’t want that and it’s fine, that’s _fine,_ but god, Richie would fuck him _so_ well, if things were different. Would drag those desperate sounds from him, would make him feel so good, would make him come so hard, over and over. 

“Rich?”

Richie snaps back to reality, blinking in surprise, glancing over at Eddie. He’s still sitting in the armchair, still looking at him. Legs still spread, exactly like they would be if he was waiting for Richie to come over and fuck him senseless with this big fucking dildo. Jesus Christ. “Huh?”

Eddie blinks slowly. Richie’s shirt is still open over his chest. He’d be so easy to undress. “You good?”

Richie clears his throat, trying to shake off the images still assaulting his brain. He shouldn’t be fantasizing about Eddie right in front of him. That’s not cool. What would Eddie think if he knew? “Sorry,” he says. “Zoned out a bit.” He sniffs, looks away from Eddie’s dark, intense gaze. “I think I’m gonna go...uh, take a nap, or something?” He’s so hard he feels like he’s going to pass out from it. 

But Eddie immediately says, “What? Fuck that.”

His tone startles Richie, and he stands up straighter, snaps his gaze back to him. Eddie’s frowning deeply, brows furrowed. “Huh?”

“I took the day off for this,” Eddie says, looking at Richie searchingly. There’s a moment of tension, like they’re on the brink of something, but then Eddie kind of deflates, and huffs out a sigh, and says, “Come on, Rich. At least come watch a fucking movie with me or something.”

Richie’s first instinct is, shamefully, to say no, and insist that he needs to go to his room, because _fuck_ he needs to come right now. But Eddie’s looking up at him with those big fucking brown eyes, and he looks tired and disappointed, and Richie wonders for a second if maybe he’s embarrassed about the dildo thing, like maybe he thought it’d be fine but now Richie is, admittedly, acting super weird about it, and now he feels uncomfortable. Way to fucking go. 

And he’s _right._ He’s absolutely right. It’s Valentine’s Day, and they’re not exactly a romantic, lovey-dovey couple, but they _are_ a couple, and Eddie took the day off, so he obviously takes this more seriously than Richie ever anticipated. Richie wants to cry a little bit with how sexually frustrated he is, but Eddie’s more important than that. Today should be about spending time together. Richie can’t keep trying to disappear to jack off. Even if he really, _really_ desperately wants to. God. 

No. He can do it. He was a teenager, once. This will not be the first day he spends with a perpetual Eddie-Kaspbrak-induced boner that he can’t shake, while simultaneously trying to act normal. He’s practically a seasoned pro at this. 

He lets out a short breath, and then tries on a smile. “Yeah. No, you’re right. Let’s watch something. Come on, let’s snuggle on the couch.”

Eddie’s lips twitch in a smile, and his head drops against the back of the armchair. “Yeah,” he sighs. “Let’s snuggle on the couch.”

It’s a little hard to move to the living room with a boner as raging as Richie’s, but he manages. Richie has overcome greater barriers than intense, neverending arousal to get where he is today. He’ll fucking manage. 

He does have to bite his lip to reign in a squeak when Eddie climbs onto the couch with him and presses his ass a little too firmly into the cradle of Richie’s lap, though. Richie definitely should have requested to be the little spoon. But _by god,_ he will fucking manage.


	3. Chapter 3

Cuddling with Eddie on the couch and watching an entire season of Fleabag is honestly one of Richie’s ideal ways to spend his day. He has some work things he should probably be doing, but honestly, if Eddie’s willing to take a day off for this, then so is Richie. And it’s _nice._ Eddie smells clean and fresh in Richie’s arms, and he’s warm and sweet and he lets Richie press as many kisses as he likes against the side of his neck and the curve of his shoulder. This is absolutely the kind of cute shit he imagined being able to do if he and Eddie ever, by some miracle, got together. And now they are. And he’s doing it. So really, no complaints from Richie, he’s living his fucking dream. 

They start off propped up in the corner of the couch, with Eddie tucked up in his lap and Richie’s arms around him, hands free to roam over his warm torso, or be held in Eddie’s lap, Eddie playing with his fingers idly. Which is really nice, even if Eddie _is_ kind of sitting on Richie’s persistent boner, and not in the sexy way. But after a couple episodes Eddie gets tired of that, or maybe overheated, and when he gets up to go get them some reheated leftovers for lunch, he comes back and sits down on the opposite side of the couch, lifting his feet up onto the cushions between them and sticking his toes under Richie’s thigh. Richie shoots him a smile, rests one hand on his shin as he turns back to the TV and eats with his other, missing the weight and warmth of him but happy if Eddie’s comfortable. Maybe Richie was being too handsy. It’s good for Eddie to assert his own boundaries. 

The next time Richie looks at him, though, Eddie’s dropped one foot to the floor next to the couch, and his other knee is drawn up, his legs spread wide. It’s even more obscene than his pose on the armchair earlier, and worse, Richie is _right_ next to it. His shorts are hiked up, and there is a _lot_ of thigh on display very close to Richie, smooth and soft and just a little hairy. Richie’s mouth waters a little, just looking at him. Richie doesn’t think Eddie is hard—thank god—but his shorts are still pulled tight over his crotch, and Richie would still like to lean over and put his mouth on the outline of his soft dick there. Feel it stiffen under his lips and tongue. 

He looks away quickly, before Eddie notices him staring, and turns to lift his own legs onto the couch, tangling them with Eddie’s. Eddie makes a soft sound and worms his foot under Richie’s ass, and Richie licks his lips and keeps his eyes on the TV, completely missing whatever is going on onscreen. He can’t be blamed, he thinks. What’s he supposed to do, when his boyfriend is so distractingly hot? And also cute? Richie kind of wishes they were making out right now. Maybe that would take the edge off his relentless arousal. 

Eddie huffs out a quiet sigh, or maybe a laugh, and lifts his other foot from the floor, tucking it up against the inside of Richie’s thigh. It’s unnervingly close to his dick, but at least Eddie’s legs aren’t spread quite so indecently, now. Richie’s desire to suck his dick goes down by about 10%. 

This is, of course, about two minutes before Eddie starts idly stroking the sensitive inside of Richie’s thigh with his toes, which he probably doesn’t realize is as stimulating as it is. Eddie would never touch Richie there with his _hands._

This is further proven when Eddie stretches languidly, and it presses his foot _directly_ up against Richie’s crotch. Richie tenses up, holds his breath, but when Eddie settles he just _leaves it there._ If Richie were a different man, with different kinks, he would be absolutely losing his mind right now. As it is, he’s furiously trying to will away the blood rushing southward. He’s still kind of half-hard, his eternal state of being for the day, but he doesn’t want to make things worse. Eddie would probably be embarrassed. Richie doesn’t want to bring attention to it. 

So he just sits there, desperately trying to ignore the firm pressure against his cock. Regardless of intention, part of Eddie is pressed up against a part of Richie where he would really like to be touched more and with purpose, and as Richie is currently impersonating a fourteen-year-old flush with hormones, it’s driving him wild. He breathes deeply and tries not to move or squirm or think too loudly. It would _not_ do for Eddie to start being able to read his mind right now. 

Eddie shifts, and it jostles his foot against Richie’s dick. He is reminded, _brutally,_ of their clubhouse hammock. Oh, the thoughts that Richie had in that hammock. Half of his gay awakening took place there. It’s no wonder this is having such an effect on him, with those memories playing such a huge role in the way he fell for Eddie in the first place. Same shorts, too—Richie is being assaulted by schoolboy fantasies. They were less graphic then, more theoretical, mostly involved desperate grinding because he didn’t know that much about anything else. God, what Richie would give to come in his pants from grinding against Eddie’s thigh. If fucking only. 

Richie really, really hopes Eddie is not noticing the slow thickening of his cock against his foot. It’s not his fault! He’s having a _day._

Eddie sighs, and sits up. Richie is elated as his foot is retracted, and then has a moment of blinding fear as Eddie opens his mouth, terrified he’s about to ask why Richie is getting hard when Eddie’s just trying to watch TV. But then his mouth closes again, and he frowns, and moves so that he’s lying the opposite way on the couch, settled between Richie’s legs with his head propped up against Richie’s lower stomach. “Scratch my head,” he murmurs. 

Richie swallows thickly, and silently thanks the lord that Eddie seems to be oblivious to the dick currently pressed against the nape of his neck. He strokes through Eddie’s hair gently, scratching over his scalp, and Eddie hums and relaxes against him. Richie feels the vibration of the noise right through the fabric of his sweats. He bites his lip and tries not to think about it. 

Eddie slides down a little in his lap. Richie bites back a whimper. He turns his head and kisses the very top of his thigh gently. Richie is less successful about the whimper this time. 

Eddie looks up at Richie, hands folded over his stomach. His eyes are incredibly dark. He says, “Do you want to make out?”

“Yes,” Richie says breathlessly. 

Eddie scrambles up to his knees, and then turns and straddles Richie’s lap to lean into him and kiss him _wickedly_ deep. Richie doesn’t know where Eddie learned to kiss like that, but he’s too lightheaded to really think about it, making a soft sound against his mouth and then falling into it, kissing him back desperately, winding both arms around his waist. The pressure is off his crotch now, but Richie’s not even thinking about that, lost in the slick heat of Eddie’s mouth, his fingers curling in Richie’s hair, the heady rush of Eddie slipping his tongue past his lips. 

Richie groans, gripping his hips tightly, trying to reciprocate as Eddie _attacks_ his mouth. It’s wildly good, the intense heat of it, but also overwhelming, almost frantic. Richie wonders, in some distant part of his mind, if this is punishment for popping inappropriate boners all day.

If it is, it certainly isn’t helping, because the second Eddie draws Richie’s tongue into his mouth and sucks on it, Richie is _rock_ hard. When Eddie asked if he wanted to make out, Richie assumed he meant the kind of slow, lazy making out that can last for ages without going anywhere or heating up. But this is downright _filthy,_ Eddie’s mouth hungry and wet, his hands possessive. It’s all Richie can do to keep up, making breathy sounds and holding on for dear life, sliding his hands over the dip of Eddie’s back, over his round little ass, over those soft thighs. 

And then his hands snap back up to Eddie’s hips, because in the middle of Eddie licking behind his teeth and melting Richie’s brain, he’s starting to press in closer, trying to settle in Richie’s lap, and Richie isn’t sure he can handle that. Not now. 

But Eddie’s mouth is insistent, and so are his hips, pushing against Richie’s hold, and Richie is too turned on to resist. He eases up, and Eddie glues himself to Richie’s front, a solid line of heat all along Richie’s body, still kissing him fervently, seemingly unaware that Richie’s very hard dick is pressed _right_ up into his groin. 

Richie chokes off a moan, tries a little desperately to slow down the kiss. But Eddie is a force to be reckoned with, and he’s a man on a mission right now, scraping his fingers through Richie’s hair, making soft sounds of pleasure against his mouth. It’s incredibly hot, and Richie can’t do anything but let it happen. He’s in heaven; he’s in hell. Eddie’s fervour is making him shift restlessly against Richie, and it’s causing him to rock rhythmically against him. It’d be alarmingly stimulating on a good day, and today it’s _unbearable._ Richie’s going to lose it. 

The problem is, Richie is having a really hard time putting a stop to it. He knows he has to, knows something is going to happen that he regrets if he doesn’t, but Eddie is kissing him so fiercely that Richie has more or less lost his entire mind. Every time he has a moment of lucidity and tries to pull back, Eddie is chasing his mouth, biting at his lips, licking into it like he needs it to survive. And Richie lets him, because he fucking _loves_ it. He loves that Eddie likes kissing him, that he wants it. Richie may not get to have sex with him, but he gets _this,_ and it’s amazing. It’s more than he ever dreamed of having in reality. He thought he’d have to make do with idle fantasies forever, but he doesn’t, he has this, he gets to have this, and Eddie is _into it._ He never really imagined Eddie ever being this into him. It’s a fucking miracle. 

But now Richie is getting _really_ worked up, pleasure pooling in his gut, and he knows that if he doesn’t put some space between him and Eddie he’s going to just come on the spot. After literal hours of slow-burning arousal, his body is _begging_ for release. And Eddie is so hot and sensual against him. 

“Eds,” he gasps, finally managing to break away. “Eddie, hold up.”

Eddie makes a frustrated sound, kisses sloppily against his jaw. “ _What.”_

“I need to _breathe,”_ Richie says, laughing shakily. 

Eddie sighs and squirms, and Richie grips his hips tightly, holds him still. “Breathe later.”

“I can’t, I need to breathe _right now,”_ Richie says, a little urgently. “Can you stop moving?”

“No,” Eddie mutters, hips moving restlessly. 

“Eddie,” Richie says, biting his tongue, squeezing his eyes shut. “Can you let me up?”

“ _Why?”_ Eddie sighs, pressing almost deliberately up against Richie’s crotch. 

Richie hisses, and grinds his teeth, and says, “Because I am _losing my mind,_ okay, just give me _five minutes,_ please please please give me five minutes, I need to get off _now.”_

Eddie freezes, and for a second Richie thinks _fuck-fuck-fuck, too direct, he doesn’t like that._ He feels positive that Eddie’s about to get up, and leave, and not come back. The pressure in his balls is suddenly very unimportant. 

And then he cracks his eyes open, and he sees Eddie looking at him, gaze hot, and he says, “You could just do it here, though. Couldn’t you?”

Richie’s mouth goes dry. His head spins. “I—” He has to swallow a couple times before his voice doesn’t come out a dry rasp. “I could? I mean. You wouldn’t mind?”

Eddie’s huge eyes blink once, and he shakes his head. Richie’s heart flutters wildly in his chest. 

Eddie wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t mind Richie getting off right here, right in front of him. While Eddie _watches._

And then Eddie’s tongue darts out quickly to wet his swollen lips, and he says, voice low, “I could help.”

Richie almost comes on the spot, just hearing him say that. “Shit,” he breathes, his entire mind one long, silent scream. “Yeah?”

Eddie smiles, small and sultry. “Yeah,” he says, and leans in to kiss him again. 

It’s slower, now, a burning kind of kiss that Richie can’t get enough of. He breathes quick and shallow, heart pounding, and Eddie bites softly at his lips, licks into his mouth slow and wanton. Richie moans a little more openly, now, and moves a hand tentatively from Eddie’s hip to the inch of space between them, between their stomachs. Eddie makes an encouraging sound, lets go of Richie’s shoulder to grab his hand and lower it, gently, to the tent in Richie’s pants. Richie can barely breathe as their joined hands press down against him, nearly forgets to keep kissing Eddie, just lets Eddie do whatever he wants to him. Richie will take _anything._

Eddie presses Richie’s hand against his dick, and Richie bucks a little bit into it, wondering vaguely if Eddie would rather not touch Richie’s dick himself. That makes sense, he thinks, until Eddie pushes Richie’s hand aside to palm him fully, and then Richie isn’t thinking at _all._ Eddie squeezes his cock lightly, and Richie moans, and this is _not_ going to last long. God, Richie wishes this could last longer, but he’s at his wit’s end. He’s essentially been edged for the past several _hours,_ since _breakfast,_ it’s fucking two in the afternoon now, he’s _desperate._

Eddie pulls away from Richie with a soft, wet sound, and when Richie manages to open his eyes, the look Eddie is giving him is _scorching._ Eddie smiles provocatively, and then he uses his free hand to find Richie’s and guide it to pull up the hem of Richie’s shirt, squeezing it to keep it there. 

“Oh my god,” Richie says, lightheaded. Eddie moves like he knows what he’s fucking doing, or at least like he’s _thought about it,_ and it’s blowing Richie’s mind. 

And then Eddie starts kissing slowly down Richie’s throat, slithering down and off the couch to kneel beside it, moving his mouth to Richie’s bare chest, down his sternum, over his ribs. Richie groans, bucking up into the gentle pressure of his hand still on his dick, and watches with rapt attention. “Eddie,” he breathes. “Shit, _Eddie.”_

Eddie is settled comfortably between Richie’s legs, on the floor. He pulls away, looks up at Richie through dark lashes. Richie is holding his breath at this point, scared he’s going to blow at any second. Eddie tugs at the hem of his sweats meaningfully. 

Richie’s going to lose it. He’s going to lose it. He fumbles to push his hips up, helps Eddie pull his sweats down, and then, unbelievably, his boxers. His cock springs free, desperately hard and wet at the head, and Eddie eyes it intensely. Richie wonders if he’s nervous. If he’s having second thoughts. Eddie’s gaze flicks back up to his, and he leans in. Richie’s breaths come fast and hard. 

Eddie wraps one warm hand around his cock, noses at Richie’s thigh. Richie makes a sound like a baby crying. Eddie’s hand is on his dick, fingers long and sure and firm, and Richie has imagined this so many times it’s _ridiculous._ “I’m going to die,” he chokes out. “I’m going to fucking die.” 

And then Eddie pushes Richie’s cock to the side a little, and leans past it, and presses a warm, lingering kiss to his belly, just below his navel. 

Richie whines high in his throat, eyes hot and burning. His throat is closing up and he thinks his eyes are watering. He settles one hand in Eddie’s wild hair, the other on his shoulder, just to have something to hold onto. Eddie smiles up at him, and kisses his stomach again, and licks his lips. Richie’s hips shift against his will. His cock twitches. 

Eddie notices. He pulls his head back, tilts it to the side. Looks at Richie’s cock thoughtfully. And then, achingly slowly, he opens his mouth and fits it over the head of his dick. 

“Eddie,” Richie says urgently, tugging at his hair. He can’t, he can’t, fuck, _shit._ “Eds—”

Eddie sucks once. 

Richie comes harder than he ever has in his life.

***

Sucking Richie Tozier’s dick has to be one of the highest points of Eddie’s life. It’s a truth which is both incredibly sad and unfortunately real. His life has been, for the most part, a series of low points, with a couple of childhood highs surrounding the friends he made, and then one really bright point in the form of finally telling Richie he’s in love with him and having the sentiment returned, and now, a new highlight: sucking Richie’s dick.

He _is_ a little disappointed that it ended so quickly, but he’s strangely satisfied about that, too. That he made Richie come, and quickly. So he can’t be _that_ bad. 

The entire thing was intensely exciting. Grinding up against Richie while they made out on the couch, and Richie not pushing him away, making Eddie feel like he really had a chance. And then that single moment of bravery, when Richie said he had to get off and Eddie told him to _stay._ And Richie agreeing. Giving him that chance. Letting Eddie participate. _God,_ it was so fucking hot, Eddie could barely _think._ He _wasn’t_ thinking, he was just acting, and for once it paid off. 

He didn’t even know what he was going to do before he did it. Was acting purely on instinct, and Eddie has never sucked cock before, so he’s not sure why his mind went there, but it _had,_ and he’d just _done it._ And the face Richie made, shocked and helpless and desperate, was so good, so hot. And the _noises_ he made. Eddie wants to make him make those sounds again, every day for the rest of his _life._

Also, god, his fucking _cock._ Eddie is not, admittedly, a connoisseur of dicks. He hasn’t seen that many and has encountered literally none before now in a sexual context. He knows he _likes_ them, knows he’s very into the dildo he got himself when he fell brutally in lust with Richie and started thinking a little too often about what it might feel like to get fucked (and the answer is: presumably _very_ good). But he doesn’t know much outside of his own cock and his fake cock, which is approximately the same size as his own. 

But now, after months and months of desperate fantasizing, he _has_ seen Richie’s dick, and it’s _glorious._ Long and thick, just like the rest of him. Deliciously girthy, bigger than Eddie or his dildo in a way that does not disappoint him at _all._ Flushed and leaking and. God, Eddie couldn’t _help_ but want to get his mouth on it, could barely think about anything else. Again, with the oral fixation, but. It was so good. He wanted it so badly, will continue to want it so badly. A hundred different ways. Are there a hundred different ways to have a dick? Eddie will find them.

He’s on cloud fucking nine. He’s done it, he thinks. He’s fucking _done it._

Richie is still breathing hard as Eddie licks across the tip of it and lets it fall from his mouth, and then crawls back up Richie’s body, tucking him gently back into his boxers before settling against him. 

“Holy shit,” Richie breathes, mouth clumsy as he reaches around Eddie to pull him down against his chest. “Eds, holy _shit.”_

Eddie grins against his throat. His mouth tastes disgusting, but he’s surprisingly unbothered by it. He regrets nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Yeah.”

“Christ, _yeah._ Oh my fucking god.”

Eddie laughs a little, waits for Richie to come down from his high. He’s absolutely boneless, sprawled there on the couch. He’s wiping his eyes messily, and smiling up at the ceiling, eyes closed. Eddie’s cock throbs, but Richie doesn’t seem to have noticed yet, still completely fucked out. It’s a good look on him. 

Slowly, the sweat cools on Eddie’s skin. Richie strokes through his hair rhythmically, slow and sleepy. Eddie waits. And then he waits some more. Richie strokes his cheek and dozily says, “ _Thank_ you.”

Eddie laughs again, somewhat more uncertainly now. “Sure,” he says. 

“I’m serious, Eds, _thank you,”_ Richie says emphatically. As if Eddie did him some kind of favour. 

“Mhmm.” Eddie bites his tongue and presses the bulge of his very hard cock a little more firmly into Richie’s thigh. 

And Richie—Richie _moves away._ “Ah, sorry,” he says, holding onto Eddie’s hip. “Maybe you can just—”

It feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped over Eddie’s head. He jerks his hips away from Richie’s, and his face goes hot with shame. “Oh, yeah, I—”

“Yeah,” Richie says, eyes still closed, like this is nothing, like it’s not a huge deal. 

Fuck, _fuck._ Eddie bites his lip so hard it feels like it’s going to bleed. Richie doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want it. 

It’s, it’s fine, it’s _not_ fucking fine, but. Eddie was allowed to have this much, which was good, it was so good, he doesn’t need to ask for more. He tells himself this, frantically, as Richie sighs contentedly and Eddie tries to figure out whether or not he needs to leave.

God, it’s just so _fucking_ unfair. He really let himself think, for a second. He let himself get too optimistic. But if Richie hasn’t wanted that—hasn’t wanted to touch Eddie like that—for this long, he’s not going to change his mind now. Eddie can do this for Richie, can help him get off, but it’s _just_ fucking unfair. 

Beside him, Richie is drifting off, relaxed and satisfied and oblivious. And Eddie loves him so fucking much and he’s, he’s _happy_ he could help him get off like this. Even if maybe it was only a one-time thing, who fucking knows. But Eddie’s happy he could make Richie feel good, even just once. And he got to touch him, see him, feel him in his hand and on his tongue, taste him. It just, it _sucks,_ it sucks that Eddie doesn’t get that, that Eddie doesn’t get to be on the receiving end of that. That everything else could be so good and not this, and it’s not that important, he knows it’s not, but it’s just _stupid._

A little voice in the back of his head asks him, stupidly, if maybe Myra was right. If maybe no one will ever want him the way she did. And he knows that’s fucked up and that everything he has with Richie is a thousand times better than that and that Richie _does_ want him, even if not like that. He knows that, but it just. It just fucking sucks. 

His eyes sting, and he blinks them furiously, wipes his cheeks quickly before Richie wakes up and asks him why he’s fucking _crying._ The only way he could possibly be more unattractive right now would be to get caught crying after giving someone a blowjob for the first time. 

Way to fucking go, Kaspbrak.


	4. Chapter 4

One of the best things about Richie is that he talks nonstop, which keeps Eddie from having the time to get too inside his head, because he’s busy trying to think of something in response to whatever nonsense Richie just vomited. Some people definitely think it’s annoying, that Richie never stops talking, and even often talks _over_ people, including Eddie. But Eddie finds it soothing, in a way. Like a white noise machine. And it distracts him. When Myra used to get pissed at him or whatever, sometimes she’d give him the cold shoulder, and annoying as that was, it also gave Eddie _way_ too much time alone with his thoughts. And Eddie’s head is not generally a good place to be. 

Eddie isn’t feeling particularly benevolent towards Richie right now. He doesn’t really _feel_ like talking to him, and isn’t sure what he’d do or say if he _was_ talking to him. But as it is, Richie is asleep, just passed the fuck out on the couch, which means Eddie is wallowing in silence, and that’s probably the worst thing that could be happening right now. 

It’s too late, though. Eddie is self-aware enough to know when he’s spiralling, but hell if he is capable of pulling himself out of it. And Richie’s asleep, and Eddie doesn’t have it in him to wake him up, and he also doesn’t have it in him to be on the couch with him anymore, which means that Eddie is in his room, now, alone, lying on his bed, and feeling like complete and utter _shit._

He’s not even hard anymore. It’s hard to feel horny when you feel so fucking...gross and undesirable. It’s hard enough, being forty and just now figuring out what he’s into and what he wants. It’s hard enough only just now gathering the courage to go _after_ what he wants, when he’s _well_ past his prime. Maybe things would have been different when he was in his twenties and didn’t feel his age every time he fucking… _sits_ for too long. Eddie has never felt sexy, or desirable, but maybe once upon a time he _could have been._ But maybe he’s...too fucking old for this. Or maybe not. Maybe he never would have been cut out for this. He doesn’t _know,_ and he feels like maybe it’s too late to find out. He’s so fucking new to all of this, to being gay and looking at men and being _looked at_ by men. He never thought that much about whether or not he was attractive to women. 

He thinks now, all the time, about if he’s attractive to men. If being gay suits him better than being straight did, even if that was never who he was and this is. Eddie never got a chance to really try putting himself out there. He never had a chance to test the waters, figure out if guys could be _into him._ And he doesn’t regret that—doesn’t regret knowing what he wanted and not settling for someone else, even just to experiment or whatever. That’s never what he wanted to do. He’s _happy_ he has Richie. He’s so happy, every single day. He’s the only person Eddie thinks he’s ever really wanted, and he’s everything Eddie could have dreamed of. He’s so good. 

It’s just. With the way things are, it leaves Eddie wondering. If someone else might have been into Eddie, if someone else might have wanted him, wanted to have sex with him. A part of him wonders if maybe no one would. Maybe something about him just screams _not fuckable._ Maybe it’s all his fucking baggage. God, Eddie’s not sure if he’d want to have sex with himself, either. Talk about fucked up. And with shit self-esteem to boot. _Ha._

It doesn’t really matter if anyone other than Richie wants to have sex with him, anyway. Eddie wouldn’t be interested. _Isn't_ interested. This whole thing is fucking stupid, because Eddie doesn’t even want to have sex with anyone other than him. And this isn’t enough for Eddie to second guess being with him. It really isn’t. This isn’t a dealbreaker, and it obviously isn’t a dealbreaker for Richie, at least not at this point. Eddie’s happy. He _is._ He’s not feeling it right now but he loves Richie and he’s happy to be with him and spend time with him and touch him and kiss him. And Eddie spent his entire adult life never having that much sex or looking very hard for it. Not that he was happy, then, but it wasn’t something that bothered him that much. Of course, that was before he figured out some very key aspects about himself and his sexuality, but still. It’s not something he _needs._ Just because his sex drive is through the roof right now doesn’t mean it always will be. Things will get better. They have to get better. 

He’s happy with Richie. No matter what, he really is. He’s not going to give this up for something as fucking dumb as this, as not getting laid when he wants to. He doesn’t _need it._

What he does need is to fucking...know. This entire time, he’s been so fucking scared to ask. Just in case the answer was something he wouldn’t want to hear. Easier to just assume and placate himself with the fact that it could always be something else, it could be something less devastating than Richie finding him absolutely repulsive. But he can’t take it anymore. He can’t let this all fall apart. Not now, not after Eddie’s finally got him. 

A tiny, nagging voice sometimes asks Eddie if maybe he’s too desperate. If maybe he wants Richie too much. Eddie has spent his whole life being wanted too much, in all the wrong ways. It terrifies Eddie, the idea that he might be doing the same thing. Keeping Richie just because he wants him. Not letting him go even when that would be better for him. Sometimes, Eddie fiercely thinks _no one could love him like I do,_ and it makes him feel sick. Eddie never, _never_ wants to hold Richie back for his own selfish reasons. 

If Richie ever gets sick of him, Eddie promises himself he’ll let him go. He will. If Richie tells him Eddie isn’t enough for him, Eddie won’t try to keep him. It’ll hurt like hell, but it would hurt more to become the kind of monster he’s lived with his entire life. Eddie will let him go. 

Tears leak from the corners of Eddie’s eyes, dampen the pillow under his head. He lets them fall, in the privacy of his own room. His therapist tells him he needs to let himself feel things other than anger. Eddie doesn’t really know what the dark, painful knot of emotion is in his chest, hot and sharp behind his forehead and cold and deep in his stomach, but he thinks it probably counts. 

There’s a noise outside his closed door, and Eddie sits up quickly, rubs his hands over his eyes. He’s still wearing Richie’s shirt, which is starting to smell less comfortingly like him, and makes Eddie feel stupid and ashamed besides. He pulls the sweater he wore the night before on over top a second before his door swings open a few inches and Richie pokes his head in. 

“Hey,” he says, seeing Eddie and smiling sleepily. “I was wondering if maybe you fell asleep, too.”

Eddie clenches his jaw and shakes his head. He’s not—he’s not mad at Richie, not rationally, but looking at him smiling and content still makes Eddie want to punch him, a little. “Nope. Just you.”

Richie laughs softly and shakes his head. “Anyway, I’m starting to get kind of hungry. You want to go out for an early dinner?”

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek. “Not really.”

“Oh.” Richie frowns. “You sure? It’s Valentine’s. We can get a romantic plate of spaghetti or something. No pun intended.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh. “I don’t really feel like going out.”

“Oh, okay. We could order something in? Something nice?”

“Whatever,” Eddie says. He has no appetite. He doubts he’ll eat. 

Richie’s frown deepens. He steps further into the room, brow lined with concern. “Hey, are you okay?”

Eddie laughs a little, eyes still stinging, chest painfully tight. “Yeah, Rich, I’m fine. I’m fucking great.”

“Eds—”

“I’m fine!” Eddie says, scrubbing a hand through his hair and looking away from him, from his big, worried eyes. 

“You don’t seen fine,” Richie pushes. Immediately, his voice takes on a nervous, hesitant tone as he says, “Is it— Are you upset about what happened? On the couch?”

Eddie’s stomach drops. It must be pretty obvious. He doesn’t look at Richie, fingers tugging restlessly at the front of his sweater, jaw tight. His heart thuds painfully against his ribs. He doesn’t feel ready. He never feels ready. What he _does_ feel is...scared, and frustrated, and tired. He’s so fucking tired. Of all of this, of feeling like this. “You know,” he says, and his voice comes out all defensive, “I’ve had—I’ve had sex before. People have wanted to have sex with me.”

He looks at Richie automatically, unable to stop himself, and the way his shoulders sag, and the look in his eyes, sad and sympathetic, is like a baseball bat to the head. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie’s eyes burn hotter, and it pisses him off. “Don’t be fucking— Don’t pity me, Richie, god.”

“I’m not pitying you!” Richie says, stepping closer to Eddie’s bed.

Eddie makes a rough sound, like a scoff, and looks away again. “It sure fucking seems like it.”

“I’m not pitying you, I’m trying to—to _comfort_ you.”

“That’s even worse!”

Richie throws his hands in the air helplessly. “Why? What can I do? I’m sorry, okay? I’ve tried so hard and I thought you— I didn’t mean to do that and I’m so, so sorry, I don’t know what got into me, just. What do you want me to _do?”_

“You could _fuck me.”_

Eddie immediately feels terrible for saying it, even before Richie jerks back like Eddie slapped him. _It’s not his fault,_ he tries to tell himself. _You can’t make him do this. Not today and not ever._

But then Richie just looks fucking sad, and he says, “Come on, Eds, don’t—”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Eddie says, quickly, before Richie can say anything else. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Richie says, shaking his head earnestly. “It’s not your fault.”

Eddie scoffs miserably. “Well, what else am I supposed to do?”

There’s a long moment of painful silence, then, like the gasp for breath after a punch to the gut. Something right on the edge of a lot of things, and Eddie doesn’t like any of them. But standing on the precipice is worse. 

He opens his mouth and says, thickly, haltingly, “Do you think I’m gross?”

Richie blinks at him dumbly. “What? No, Eddie, of course not.”

Eddie doesn’t even have it in him to feel relieved, or even to believe him. “Then what?”

“What do you mean, then what?”

“Why won’t you fuck me?” Eddie says, and he hates the way it sounds, fucking pathetic, fucking _desperate._

Richie splutters for a second before he says, “Because I fucking love and respect you, Eddie! I won’t let you do that to yourself.”

For a second, Eddie doesn’t even know how to respond to that. He opens his mouth twice before he manages to say, “What is this, some kind of...self-deprecation thing? God, are you fucking serious?”

“What? Eddie, what are you talking about?”

“I just want to know, Richie!” The words explode out of him. “This whole time I thought maybe it was better not to know but it isn’t, I need to _know.”_

“Know _what?”_

“Why you won’t fuck me!”

The question hangs in the air for a second, and Eddie wonders, briefly, if there’s anything he can do to take it back. It feels wrong, too big for his bedroom, like it doesn’t fit right. But it’s out there. He’s said it. 

And Richie just gapes, and then says, “Wha— Eddie! I won’t do something you don’t want!”

“I want, Richie!” Eddie cries. “I fucking _want. All the time._ So _tell me why you won’t.”_

Of all the responses Eddie thought up, from bad to devastating, none of them were Richie staring at him, struck dumb, and then saying, “You said you didn’t like it!”

“ _What?”_ Eddie doesn’t—he has no idea what the fuck he even means by that. 

“You told me!” Richie says, gesturing emphatically. “You said, you fucking. You told me you didn’t like it!”

“I told you I didn’t like _what?”_

“Sex!” Richie fully shouts the word. “You said you didn’t like sex!”

Eddie stares at him for a full five seconds before he says, “ _When the fuck did I say that?”_

Richie waves his hands wildly. “Months ago! Eddie! You said you had never liked any sex!”

Eddie _did_ say that, six fucking months ago, and he cannot _believe_ Richie— “I! Richie! Are you fucking stupid? I’m _gay!_ I’m a gay man and I was having sex with women! And with my _wife._ No fucking shit, I didn’t like the sex I’d had so far! I’d never had a good fucking partner!”

There’s a heavy beat of silence, and then, “ _What?”_ Richie’s eyes are wild. “Eddie, what are you talking about? You’ve never made any indication you were interested in sex!”

Eddie snorts indelicately. “I have been throwing myself at you for _six. Months. Richie._ You thought I didn’t want to have _sex?”_

“Yes!” Richie yells directly at him. “I absolutely _did_ think that, and that’s why I’ve been giving you space! Some people don’t like sex, Eddie!”

“I know that! But I’m not one of them!”

There’s another pause, then, quiet except for both of their heaving breaths. Richie stares at Eddie, and his throat bobs. He blinks twice and then says, voice softer and weaker, “You thought I didn’t want to have sex with you?”

A rock lodges in Eddie’s throat. He struggles to speak around it. “What was I supposed to think?”

Richie looks at him helplessly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know.” Eddie scrubs a hand through his hair. “Why _would_ you? Nothing I—nothing I did seemed to make much difference.”

“Nothing you— Why _would_ I? _Eddie?”_

His tone, sharp with incredulity, makes Eddie feel kind of pissed off. “Well, why would you?” he demands. “You haven’t seemed that tempted so far.”

“Eddie, I have been _dying,”_ Richie tells him, gesturing at him desperately. “I have been _lusting._ I get off thinking about you every single _day._ You are the single most— Eddie, you are _the_ person I want to have sex with. You have _always_ been _the_ person.”

Eddie’s eyes start stinging again. He can barely register what Richie’s saying, he’s so overwhelmed and lightheaded. His heart is pounding fast and hard and it’s making his face all hot and his chest hurt. His voice comes out hoarse when he says, “Then why haven’t you?”

“Because I love and respect you! Eddie!” Richie moves to stand directly in front of him next to the bed, holding Eddie’s face between his hands. His palms are shockingly cool against his cheeks. “The only thing keeping me from trying to fuck your brains out every single day is the _truly_ ridiculous amount that I love and respect you and your boundaries and like. My fucking need to make sure you’re comfortable and cared for. You fucker. Because I love you _so. much.”_

Eddie’s eyes are definitely wet now, and he blinks them furiously. “I love you too!” he says forcefully. “And I’m going to cry about this! But you might have thought to ask me what my fucking boundaries _are.”_

Richie laughs and shakes his head, palms growing warm against Eddie’s skin. “Yeah, okay, but you might have brought this up _six months ago._ I was so scared of pushing you or something.” 

Eddie’s voice gets caught in his throat, and he chokes on his words. His chest goes all tight as he says, eyes averted, “I thought you didn’t—want me.”

Richie’s eyes immediately go shiny and sad. “Eddie,” he says, too soft and too desperate. “No, oh my god. Eds, I have wanted you for thirty years. That’s the one thing that’s never a question. I want you more than anything.”

Eddie pulls his face back, away from Richie’s hands. “Not like that.”

Richie just holds on tighter, forces Eddie to look up at him. “ _Yes_ like that,” he says fiercely. “Every day. So much. Sometimes I think I’m going to lose my _mind_ with how much. How could you think I wouldn’t?”

Eddie bites his tongue and looks at Richie’s forehead instead of his huge, wet eyes, and says, voice tight, “I have some issues with the way people want me, Richie.”

Even without meeting his gaze, Eddie can’t miss the way Richie’s expression cracks immediately, goes all desperately heartbroken. It makes Eddie’s heart lodge up into his throat. 

“Myra—” he says, and the name gets stuck. “Myra said some shit to me that like. I won’t fucking repeat it but that shit messes you up after a while, Rich. I’m not going to lie.”

“Eddie,” Richie says brokenly, thumbs stroking over his cheeks. “Okay, yeah, I— I’m sorry. This was my bad. I’m so sorry, Eds, you know I’d never— on purpose— I’ll make it up to you.”

Eddie sniffs and wipes his face quickly, feeling gross and stupid but also incredibly, ridiculously light. He feels like a pathetic baby and like a moron, but _god,_ the relief. It’s overwhelming. Also, he just loves Richie _so_ fucking much. 

Still, though, he’s kind of sick of feeling like shit, and he’s pretty sure that’s what possesses him to say, voice exaggeratedly light and joking, “So you’ll fuck me?”

And instantly, Richie’s eyes are going dark, and his fingertips press into Eddie’s cheeks. “Eddie. I will fuck you _so_ well. Whenever you want.”

A thrill goes through Eddie, bright and sharp, and he swallows thickly. “Right now?”

Richie makes a soft sound, like Eddie punched him. “Yeah,” he says, voice raw. “Right the _fuck_ now.”

Eddie grins, still shaky and overwhelmed. God, _yes._ Fuck. “Okay,” he says, reaching up to grab Richie’s hands. “Then let’s fucking do this.”


	5. Chapter 5

Kissing Eddie again after everything is like a fucking revelation. 

Richie had woken up from his impromptu post-orgasm nap feeling weird about Eddie not being there. He hadn’t necessarily expected Eddie to fall asleep with him but something about his absence felt off, felt _wrong._ Richie panicked, almost immediately, thinking that maybe he let things go too far. That maybe he freaked Eddie out. 

But he’d tried to play it cool. Richie has a history of thinking any number of things were his fault that had nothing to do with him. He’d found Eddie in his room, asked him if he wanted dinner. The anxiety had returned full force the second he got Eddie’s short reply. 

And then, _god._ Everything had really come out. And Richie’s glad, of _course_ he’s glad, but they’d had to talk about some really tough shit. They’d had to be really honest and vulnerable and Richie _hates_ being honest and vulnerable, it scares the shit out of him, but he’d done it, they’d both done it, and it _sucked._ Hearing Eddie talk about himself that way, as if he was unworthy and unwanted and anything other than the love of Richie’s goddamn life—Richie wanted to scream with it. And just. Knowing it was Richie’s fault, for never saying anything, for never making sure he _knew._ God, he was such an idiot. He can’t believe he never _told him._ Asked him what he needed and made sure he got it. This is all Richie’s fucking fault. For real this time. 

But now they’re kissing, and it’s a fucking miracle. They kiss all the time, every day, they’ve kissed a _lot_ already _today,_ but after everything, after Richie genuinely thought Eddie might never want to touch him again not fifteen minutes ago, it’s such a fucking relief, and it’s _good._ It’s so good. 

And just. Kissing Eddie, knowing that Eddie _wants_ him. In every possible way. Kissing Eddie knowing that Eddie wants Richie to _fuck_ him. Knowing that they’re going to have sex after this. 

“Holy shit,” Richie says, kissing Eddie messily, climbing onto the bed and pressing Eddie down against his mattress under him just to kiss him harder. “Eddie, shit.”

“What?” Eddie says against his mouth, holding onto his shirt with both hands, trying to pull him down to lie on top of him. 

“I don’t know.” Richie laughs a little, breathless. “We’re going to have sex.”

Eddie makes a small sound, leans up to bite at Richie’s lip. They’re still raw from earlier. “Yeah, I fucking hope so.”

“ _God._ You don’t know how long—” He cuts himself off, flushing hot. 

“No,” Eddie says, gripping his shoulders. “Tell me.”

Richie swallows hard, pulls back to stare down at him. “Huh?”

“Tell me.” Eddie’s eyes are dark, endlessly dark. “How long.”

“Shit.” Want throbs through Richie’s body, and he goes hot with embarrassed arousal. “Since we were _kids,_ Eds. Since before I even knew how it’d work I wanted you.”

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes are huge, searching. His hands are clenched tight in the fabric of Richie’s shirt. 

Richie nods dumbly. The words are hard to find but he wants to say them, needs to say them, needs Eddie to _know._ He can’t believe he let Eddie just walk around not knowing. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he says honestly. “You’re so fucking hot, Jesus Christ.”

Eddie scoffs. “I’m not.”

“Yes you _are._ You’re so fucking hot, _look_ at you, did you think I don’t think you’re hot? Eddie?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, like Richie’s fucking _joking._ “Come on, Rich.”

“I’m serious! Oh my god, look at your— _Look at you.”_ He gestures down at Eddie helplessly, then tugs up the hem of his sweater. “Take this off, I want to look at you, I am _obsessed_ with you, why do you think I’m so horny every single day? Holy shit, I’m going to _fuck_ you.”

Richie _feels_ the way Eddie shivers underneath him. “Are you?”

“ _Yeah.”_ Richie helps Eddie tug his sweater off over his head, and then rethinks Eddie’s question and says, a little desperate, “You could also fuck me. If you wanted.”

Eddie blinks up at him, his hair a wild halo around his head where he’s lying down across his bed, Richie’s shirt hanging off his shoulders. He’s breathing hard, and Richie wants to touch every single part of him. “Have you ever bottomed?”

Richie almost lost the thread of their conversation. “Huh? Uh, no. But I could, whatever you want, whatever makes you feel good. I’d like it. If you fucked me.”

Eddie makes a low sound, licks his lips. “I will,” he says. “Someday. But right now I’m not in the mood to spend five hours prepping you to take my cock when I am already fully prepared to take yours.” Richie goes hot, and that’s _before_ Eddie adds, “Also, I’ve been thinking about you fucking me for _months_ and I’m desperate.”

Richie groans, head swimming. “Yeah, okay. Yeah. I’ll fuck you, I can’t wait to fuck you. Can you shut up now? I want to kiss you first.”

Eddie laughs, and then shuts up and pulls Richie back down to crush their mouths together painfully. 

It goes kind of frantic from there, breaths coming fast and mouths moving clumsily, hands skittering over jaws, shoulders, chests. Richie maneuvers himself between Eddie’s legs and then hitches Eddie’s knees up on either side of his hips, palms his thighs until he’s squeezing around Richie’s waist. “Your thighs are so hot,” he says breathlessly, because he’s thought it a thousand times but he’s never _said_ it, he’s such a moron for never saying it. “Always want them wrapped around me. Want to get my mouth on them.”

Eddie makes a sound between a hum and a moan and lifts his feet to hook behind Richie’s ass and pull him down, so that he’s flat against Eddie’s body. Their crotches line up, more or less, and the contact goes through Richie like lightning. He struggles to pull away. 

“Wait,” he says, even as he catches Eddie’s mouth in another quick kiss, can’t help himself. “Wait, is this okay? I want to make sure—”

“Oh my god,” Eddie groans, and then rolls his hips up against Richie’s languidly. 

Richie’s mind whites out for a second, and he pushes back on instinct, chasing the pleasure that sparks in his gut. “Shit,” he mutters, and then they’re doing it again, and again. Just grinding against each other, and kissing messily, and it feels so fucking good, it’s insane. 

“Eddie,” Richie whispers, a shocked sound, mouth slack against the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “God, fuck, I dreamed about this.”

“You did?” Eddie is breathing hard against Richie’s cheek. 

“Yeah, god, all the time. All through high school.” Richie can feel the swell of Eddie’s cock through his sweats and Eddie’s shorts, and the drag of it against Richie’s is delicious. “Wanted you so bad.”

Eddie makes a punched out sound, grinds against him harder. Lights explode behind Richie’s eyes. Eddie slips his tongue into Richie’s mouth and that’s it, he can’t handle it, he has to pull away and flop down on the bed next to Eddie, gasping for breath. 

“What the fuck,” Eddie says, grabbing for him clumsily as Richie’s chest heaves. “Richie I swear to god if you came already—”

Richie laughs, an arm over his eyes. “No, fuck, I just. I’m going to die, Eds, I’m losing my mind. It’s so good I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Eddie snorts, and then rolls himself over top of Richie, straddling one thigh and rolling his hips into it. “I know what to do,” he says, voice dark, eyes darker. “It involves _your_ dick, in _my_ ass.”

Richie groans, staring up at him. He holds onto Eddie’s hips, feels their rhythmic push against his thigh. Eddie Kaspbrak is _riding his thigh._ Holy fucking shit. “Okay,” he says dumbly. “I—what do you like? I don’t want to hurt you. Or, or make you feel weird, or bad, or—”

“Richie,” Eddie says, cutting him off. “Literally, I am going to lose my shit very soon. I will take _anything_ at this point. You’re not going to hurt me.”

“I might,” Richie says, trembling a little as he feels the very clear shape of Eddie’s dick against his hip. God, he’s never even _seen it._

“If you do, I’ll fucking _tell you,_ and then you’ll _stop._ That’s how sex _works,_ dipshit. You’d know if we ever _had any.”_

Richie laughs a little at that, overwhelmed and ridiculously turned on. “Okay,” he says, starting to get kind of desperate himself. “Yeah, okay. You’ll tell me if you want me to not do anything? Or if you _do_ want me to do anything?”

“ _Yes._ Oh my god. If I need to tap out you will know, immediately. Now take off your pants.”

Richie’s face flushes hot, and he scrambles for the waist of his sweatpants. “You too?” he says, as Eddie helps him pull them off. “I mean, you don’t have to, just—”

“Rich, how the fuck are you supposed to fuck me if I still have my shorts on?” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. God, Richie loves him so much. 

“It’s possible!” Richie insists. “Also, if you want to change your mind about getting fucked—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, I _know, Richie, I will tell you._ I’m forty fucking years old, I know how to have sex!”

Richie scrambles up onto his knees while Eddie is still kneeling next to him, folding his sweatpants. “I just don’t want you to regret it!” he says desperately. “Eddie, you told me you’d never had good sex before. I don’t want our first time to suck for you, too.”

Eddie’s eyes go soft, even if he’s still frowning at Richie—the edge of his mouth curls up a little. “It won’t,” he says. “Or maybe it will, because I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. But I won’t regret it. I _want it,_ Rich. Really bad. This whole thing is months overdue. I’m not a horny teenager making decisions I’m not ready for. I appreciate you worrying about me, but it’s _not necessary._ I love you. I trust you. And I want you to fuck me now. As soon as possible.”

Richie swallows thickly, and leans in to kiss him deeply, overcome with emotion, one hand buried in his wild hair. “I love you,” he mumbles against Eddie’s mouth, kicking at his lower lip. “I love you so, so much.”

“I know,” Eddie says softly, smiling into it. “Now help me take my shorts off.”

Richie’s hands fly, instinctively, to Eddie’s ass, and the elastic waistband of his shorts. He doesn’t stop kissing him as he slides the waistband down slowly, carefully, around the curve of his ass. For the first time in his life, Richie palms Eddie’s bare ass with both hands, thumbs just brushing the warm cleft. Eddie groans softly, and his ass flexes, and Richie’s heart skips a beat. “ _God,_ what an ass,” he mutters, mostly unthinkingly. 

Eddie laughs softly. “Okay, Rich, you’re laying it on a little thick.”

Richie jerks back, away from his mouth, to look at him incredulously. “Are you kidding? _Eddie._ This ass has inspired so many wet dreams, and probably _not_ just mine. I want to worship this ass.”

Eddie grins self-consciously. “Yeah?”

“ _Yes.”_ Richie digs his fingers into the meat of it desperately. 

Eddie’s throat bobs. “Then _do it.”_

Oh, holy shit. Between one second and then next, Richie is tugging Eddie’s shorts farther down, pressing Eddie back against his pillows to pull them all the way off his legs. His cock springs free, and Richie takes a moment to stare at it, hard and flushed and gorgeous. He has a _really_ nice cock, and for a second all Richie can think about is feeling it in his hands and his mouth and letting Eddie absolutely wreck him with it. But no, not now—he has something else to do. “Turn over,” he says breathlessly. 

Eddie leans back on his elbows and says, “You gonna finger me?”

“I am going to finger the _hell_ out of you,” Richie tells him. And then Eddie turns onto his stomach, legs slightly spread and ass on full display, and Richie blurts, “Can I eat you out?”

There’s a moment of crushing silence, and then Richie says, “Sorry—!” at the same time that Eddie says, with his whole chest, “ _Yes.”_

Richie almost swallows his tongue. “Yes?”

“God, _yeah._ Richie. Please.” Eddie tips his head down to rest against his folded arms. “Do it.”

A thrill runs through Richie, and he almost has to ask Eddie if he can go run a lap or two, just so he doesn’t explode. But there’s no time—Eddie is spreading his legs wider, and his ass is right there, covered with a spray of alluring freckles, and Eddie wants Richie to eat him out. Eddie’s first gay sexual experience is going to be getting his ass eaten and Richie gets to be the one to do it. 

It feels like he’s moving through water, as Richie shifts to position himself between Eddie’s legs again. He trails his fingers up Eddie’s thighs, thumbs over the crease where they meet his ass, smooths his palms over the warm skin of both cheeks. Spreads them, just a little, to catch his first glimpse of his hole. “Shit,” he whispers. 

“Richie,” Eddie says, voice hoarse. “Please fucking do something.”

Richie doesn’t know what to do. There’s so much. So many things he’s dreamed of doing. He can barely handle it. He has no idea where to start. 

His hand moves of its own accord, thumb dipping between his cheeks to rub over his rim. It twitches, and Eddie groans, and Richie’s mouth waters. He rubs over it again, harder, and then leans down and kissing the dip of his ass, just above it, right over a cluster of freckles. Eddie’s groan turns into a rough whine. 

“Rich, _please._ Please, please, please, I am fucking begging you—”

Richie’s head swims. He spreads Eddie’s cheeks with both thumbs, kisses another freckle just at the edge of one cheek, and then presses in to lick hard over his rim.

***

“Oh, _shit.”_ Eddie’s back arches the second Richie’s tongue touches him, and his whole body spasms. “Richie, fuck.”

“Bad?” Richie asks, pulling away. 

Eddie tries to laugh, but it comes out like a bark. “Are you kidding? Do it more, you coward.”

Richie swallows audibly, and instead of actually doing anything, he says, “What are you all cool with? Like, I know how you are, and it’s not very sanitary—”

Eddie shifts his hips desperately, trying to hide how fucking red his face is, because his ass is in Richie’s _face_ and literally two seconds ago he was begging Richie to eat him out. “I know it’s not fucking sanitary, Richie, oh my god, that’s why I’m not the one doing it! If you don’t want to do it then by all means back the fuck off but you’re the one putting your mouth on my ass, I don’t care what the fuck you do, just fucking—”

Eddie doesn’t even get a chance to finish before Richie is burying his face in Eddie’s ass and kissing his rim sloppily, his mouth wet and eager. Eddie moans high and needy, scrabbling at his pillow and pushing his hips down against his sheets. Richie responds with a moan of his own, and Eddie’s toes curl at the feeling, legs moving restlessly on either side of Richie’s body. “Rich, Richie, holy shit, _fuck,”_ he gasps, as Richie licks over his rim roughly, just absolutely goes to fucking _town_ on his ass. “I’m going to lose my _mind.”_

Richie just hums in response, making disgusting sounds against him, kissing and sucking wetly. Eddie barely registers it, absolutely lost to the sensation of Richie’s mouth on him, the rasp of his facial hair on sensitive skin, the slick, velvety pressure of his tongue laving over him. Eddie’s never felt anything like it before, and it _is_ unsanitary, it’s fucking gross, but it feels _so_ fucking good. He moans into his pillow, can’t stop himself, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, entire body trembling. 

And then Richie pushes his thighs farther apart, and spreads his cheeks wide, and pushes his tongue _into_ Eddie, and Eddie fucking _loses it._ He bites back a scream, grinding hard into the mattress, and instead lets out a sob, eyes watering with how good it feels, how filthy and obscene and incredible. Richie slides his tongue back out, and then back in, just teasing inside the rim, and then pressing it slowly deeper. Eddie keens out his pleasure, pushing up onto his elbows, trying to crane his neck around to see. 

Richie’s eyes are tightly closed when Eddie first looks at him, brows furrowed and hair everywhere, face buried in Eddie’s ass. But he seems to feel Eddie’s gaze and opens them after a second, and his eyes are unbelievably dark, piercing through his glasses. He holds Eddie’s gaze as he pushes his tongue into him, unbelievably slow. 

Eddie has to look away, and not just because it’s killing his neck to look over his shoulder like that. “ _Fuck,_ Richie, god,” he says, mouth clumsy, eyes wet. Pleasure shivers up his spine, pools in his groin. “I can’t, I can’t— I’m gonna fucking blow.”

Richie pulls away with a wet, sucking sound. “Good,” he says hoarsely. “Want to make you come.”

“Not like this,” Eddie gasps, at the same time that Richie curls his tongue back into him. “ _Fuuuck,_ Rich, come on, I want— _God,_ I want you to _fuck me.”_

Richie moans right into him. “Fuck, Eds,” he says, kissing messily over the edge of his ass. “I don’t know if I’ll last that long.”

“I need you to,” Eddie says urgently, head hanging as a shiver of pleasure wracks him. “I need it, Richie, I need you to fuck me.”

Richie groans, and rests his stubbly cheek right on top of Eddie’s ass. “You’re so hot,” he says plaintively. “I want to fuck you so bad but I’m going to die before I can.”

A tremor runs through Eddie at that, at Richie saying that, saying he wants to fuck him. God, for so long Eddie thought he didn’t. That he might never. He’d _accepted_ that. The fact that, that Richie _wants_ him. It’s overwhelming. 

“Get up,” he says, shifting his leg to kick Richie gently with his heel. “Go brush your teeth.”

“Huh?”

“In case I need to make out with you,” Eddie says. “Also to give you a chance to cool off a bit. And then come back here and fuck me.”

“Eddie,” Richie groans. “I can’t walk with my dick this hard, have mercy on me.”

“Well you better learn,” Eddie says. “It was your idea to eat me out. Go brush your teeth.”

“This is torture.” Richie kisses the dip of his ass sadly. “See if I ever do _this_ again.”

Eddie laughs, and bites his tongue to keep from begging Richie to just keep going. “We’ll get some bedside mouthwash. Come on, Rich, _go.”_

Richie groans all the way through it, but he heaves himself upright, and disappears into the bathroom. Eddie turns over to lay on his back, propped up against the headboard, and shivers at the chilly draft that sneaks between his wet cheeks. The skin there is almost raw with sensitivity, and Eddie licks his lips as he reaches down to brush a finger over it. Richie’s stubble really did a number on him, and Eddie trails his fingertips over the prickling skin, still slick with saliva. He shudders at the sensation of it, thinking about Richie’s mouth there, licking at him, licking _into_ him. Plays it over in his mind as he listens to Richie brushing his teeth across the hall. Sucks his lower lip into his mouth, and then presses two fingers against his rim, squirms against them. 

Eddie’s fingered himself plenty in the last six months, but not like this, not right after Richie’s just finished eating him out. His breaths come fast and shallow, and he presses the tip of one finger into himself, just to feel it. It slides in easily, as loose and wet as he is, and the feeling of it makes him whimper softly. It’s not as good as Richie’s tongue, but pleasure still curls in his gut, throbs through his cock. He closes his eyes and sighs, rubs around his rim gently. 

A voice from the doorway says, “Hey Eds— Holy _shit.”_

Eddie’s eyes spring open, and he freezes, pulling his hand back at the shocked look on Richie’s face in his bedroom doorway. 

“No!” Richie says quickly, eyes going panicked. “Don’t— I mean, you can. You can keep doing that. If you want.”

Eddie’s breath hitches in his throat. He trails his hand back down to his thigh, tentatively, meeting Richie’s gaze. “Yeah?”

“Fucking hot,” Richie says, quietly, like it’s not entirely for Eddie to hear. “Holy shit.”

Eddie’s face flushes hot, and he’s not completely sure he believes Richie, that he’s not just saying that out of pity or something, but he likes it anyway, likes the look in Richie’s eyes, feels a little drunk with it. He presses his hand back between his legs, sinks his fingertip back into himself. The sensation goes through him like lightning. 

Richie’s throat bobs, and he watches raptly, leaning against the doorframe. “Fuck,” he mutters, scratching at his thigh, like he’d rather be touching something else. And then he blurts, “I thought about this.”

Eddie swallows thickly, rubbing around his rim slowly. “What?”

“You touching yourself.” Richie looks embarrassed, saying it out loud. But he does it anyway. “Because I knew you did, at least sometimes. And—and watching. I thought about you letting me watch.”

Eddie’s heart thuds in his throat. “Really?”

Richie nods, chews on his lip. Looks between Eddie’s face and his hand. “All the time.”

A moan claws at Eddie’s throat. He spreads his legs wider. 

“Can you go deeper than that?” Richie asks, and his voice is _wrecked._

Eddie shakes his head, feeling a little like he’s about to pass out. “Not without lube or something.”

“Right,” Richie says dumbly, and then, with more feeling, “ _Right._ That’s— I came to ask you if you needed me to grab some. From my room.”

Eddie shakes his head again, panting into the still air of his room. “I have some.” He pauses, and then adds, “It’s, uh. It’s oil-based.”

“Um, okay.” Richie takes a few steps closer, looking around. “Where is it?”

“I just mean.” Eddie sniffs, rubs his heel against his sheets. “Oil-based. So we couldn’t use a condom.”

“Oh,” Richie says, stopping short. “Um, that’s okay then, if you don’t want to do it. I mean, I think mine is like, water-based, so. But I don’t know how good it’ll be for. Anal. But if not using a condom makes you uncomfortable—”

“No!” Eddie blurts. “I— We don’t have to. Unless you want to. I mean, I guess if you’ve been...having sex with other guys—”

“Of course not!” Richie scrapes a hand through his hair. “You really don’t care?”

Eddie shrugs, looks away. “Six months is the window period for HIV,” he mumbles. 

Richie laughs loudly. “So maybe waiting wasn’t such a bad idea,” he says. “You’ll really let me?”

Eddie rubs his palms over his thighs, pebbled with goosebumps. “STIs don’t just come from nowhere, Richie, someone has to already have one,” he says, maybe a little defensively. “I know how to have safe sex.”

“I know, Eds.” Richie looks at him fondly. “I just meant because it’s messy and kind of gross.”

“Oh.” Eddie clears his throat. “I don’t mind.”

“Ah.” Richie moves closer. “You like it.”

Eddie’s face flushes. “I’ve never _done it,”_ he hisses. “Can you just get the lube out? It’s in the drawer.”

Instead, Richie walks over to the bed, kneels on the edge, and moves in to kiss him soundly. “I love you,” he says, voice low, eyes laughing. 

“Love you too,” Eddie mutters, hot with embarrassment. “Now can we just have some fucking sex?”

Richie grins. “ _Can_ we.”

***

Nothing, Richie thinks, will ever be hotter than Eddie Kaspbrak sitting in his lap wanting to get fingered.

Having Eddie in his lap in any context is already something that gets Richie lightheaded. Feeling his lean, warm body and feeling the weight of him on Richie, and just having him that close. And feeling his ass on Richie’s thighs, and his thighs flexing, and his back arching. And he’s generally _in_ this position to make out with Richie, slow and filthy and deep, and he _is,_ right now, he is kissing the everloving fuck out of Richie literally five minutes after Richie was eating ass. But now, instead of Richie having to process all of this sensory input and try _not_ to let it get to him, Eddie is literally grabbing his hand and guiding it down behind him, to the base of his spine.

“Shit,” Richie whispers, pulling his hand away to scrabble for the lube bottle. “Yeah, yeah, I will.”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums, licking into his mouth like it’s the only thing he cares about, hips shifting. 

Richie is so hard he feels faint with it, even _after_ leaving to brush his teeth. He tries to keep Eddie’s hips away from his, because coming in his boxers is a real concern at this point. “I’m—mmph—I’m gonna get lube on your sheets.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie says, arms over Richie’s shoulders, spine a sweet curve. “I’m good at getting the stains out.”

 _God,_ it’s so hot that he’s gotten off in this bed before, with this lube, in this room. This probably means that Eddie will let Richie fuck him with that dildo sometime. Shit. 

“Okay,” he gasps, fumbling behind Eddie’s back to squeeze lube onto his fingers. “Here we go.”

“Can’t wait,” Eddie breathes, and it makes Richie want to cry for some reason. He could have been doing this _months_ ago. 

But he’s doing it right now, so that’s what he focuses on, kissing Eddie’s jaw as he spreads his ass with his clean hand and rubs his thumb down the cleft. Eddie squirms, gasps against Richie’s mouth. “Ready?”

“Yeah, Rich, come _on.”_

Richie catches his mouth in a kiss and slides a finger into him. 

“ _Oh,”_ Eddie says, like it’s a revelation. “Fuck.”

“I hope that’s a good _fuck,”_ Richie says, not moving, letting Eddie adjust. 

“Yeah, _shit,_ it’s good. Kind of shockingly so.” Eddie shifts against it. “Why aren’t you moving?”

“Uh,” Richie says. 

“I’ve done this before, you know,” Eddie says. “This isn’t my first time getting fingered, even if it was my own fingers before. Add another one.”

“You’re so hot,” Richie tells him dumbly, pumping his finger a couple times before sliding a second one next to it. Eddie is slick and hot and incredible inside. “Eds, what the fuck.”

Eddie makes a _hah_ sound that turns into a whine. “You’re fingering me,” he breathes, right into Richie’s ear, sounding shocked about it. “Richie.”

“Yeah.” He slides his fingers in and out slowly, so that Eddie _feels_ them. “You like it?”

“I wanted this so bad,” Eddie says throatily, and fucks his hips back against it needily. 

Richie groans, cock throbbing. “Want to give it to you,” he says, moving to mouth at the crook of Eddie’s shoulder. “Want to make you feel so good.”

“It feels _so_ good,” Eddie says, and his words are clumsy, like he’s drunk. “Kind of felt like a slut, how much I needed it.”

“Christ, _Eddie.”_ Richie can barely catch his breath. “I’ll give it to you every single day. Whatever you want.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Eddie says, and then Richie twists his fingers inside him and he stops talking and starts moaning instead, hips working. 

“ _God,”_ Richie says, and it comes out kind of like a sob. “I’m fucking dying here, Eddie, Eds, you made it sound like taking a break to finger you would make this easier.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie says, and kisses him messily, the wet tip of his cock brushing against the front of Richie’s shirt. 

It’s really, really hard for Richie to focus on kissing when he’s trying to finger Eddie’s ass, but he tries his best, moving his mouth clumsily as he scissors his fingers apart, revels in the slick, filthy noises of it. The clutch of Eddie’s body is unbearably arousing, the sweet undulation of his hips as he tries to get more, tries to get Richie’s fingers deeper. Eddie sucks on Richie’s tongue right at the same moment that Richie prods at his rim with a third finger in askance, and it makes him shudder so hard that he just pushes it in without waiting for permission. 

Eddie moans in response, rutting back against his hand, and Richie feels dizzy with lust. 

“Eds,” he groans. “My wrist is killing me, this position is shit, can I—”

“Fuck me,” Eddie breathes, cutting him off. “It’s time for you to fuck me.”

“Hnnngk,” Richie says, and slides his fingers out of Eddie’s ass. Eddie makes a desperate sound in response. “Are you sure?”

“Really, _really_ sure. I need it.” Eddie pushes up on his knees and wipes sweat from his brow. “Get your dick out.”

Richie can’t help but laugh breathlessly, trying to squirm out of his boxers without getting lube all over them or the bed. “I love you so much,” he says, the words falling from his mouth without thinking about them. “Really, just, Eddie, I love you _so_ much.”

Eddie’s stares at Richie’s cock as it bobs free, tongue swiping over swollen lips. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I love you too.”

“You’re not even trying to pretend you’re not talking to my dick,” Richie says, kicking his boxers off his feet. 

Eddie’s eyes flick up to Richie’s. They’re unimaginably dark, and they make Richie shiver. “I love you so fucking much,” he says, voice low and serious. “I have also been dreaming about you fucking me for a really, _really_ long time now. So please, if we could just—”

Richie swallows thickly. “Uh-huh,” he says dumbly. “Yeah. How do you want to—”

“Let me ride you,” Eddie says quickly, before he can even finish. “Please?”

Richie’s mouth hangs open. His hands grab instinctively for Eddie’s hips. “Okay,” he says breathlessly. “Yeah, let’s. Do that.”

There is something overwhelming about palming Eddie’s ass as he lifts up to position himself over Richie’s cock, once Richie has slid down enough that Eddie will fit into the cradle of his hips. Richie tries, desperately, to savour the moment. This is happening. They’re doing this. He slicks up his cock with lube quickly, holds tight to the base, prays that he doesn’t come as fast as he did when Eddie sucked his dick. 

“Good?” Eddie says, hands braced against his headboard, the tip of Richie’s dick _just_ brushing his ass. 

Richie swallows thickly and nods. “A dream come true, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie smiles crookedly and rolls his eyes, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. “You’re such a fucking moron.”

And then he pushes down.

***

The first press of Richie’s cock into Eddie’s ass is, above all else, a fucking revelation.

“Hooooly _shit,”_ Eddie hisses, as the head pushes past the first ring of muscle. His tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he squeezes his eyes shut, leans over to cling to Richie’s shoulders as he relishes the feeling of it. “Oh, Richie, _fuck.”_

“Yeah,” Richie says hoarsely. “Talk to me, Eds.”

“You’re fucking _big,”_ Eddie tells him, pushing down half an inch, and then back up. Richie’s shoulders flex under his hands. “I never— _oh_ —never imagined it’d feel like this.”

“You’re so tight.” Richie’s voice is stretched thin, like he’s straining for something—or against something. “God, I wish I could kiss you.”

“Later,” Eddie breathes, smearing his palms down Richie’s chest, thumbing at one peaked nipple through his shirt. He should have told him to take it off earlier, fuck. He rocks back, takes another inch. “Shit, _Richie._ This is, this is—”

“Yeah?”

“ _Everything._ Ah, I can feel you so deep, and you’re not even all the way in—” Eddie sucks in a deep breath, bears down as he sinks onto Richie’s cock. It drags a pathetic noise out of him, and he whines, “Ri _chie.”_

“That’s it, I’ve got you.” Richie’s hands skate up and down his sides, rubbing lube into his skin but Eddie doesn’t care, soaking in the soothing contact. “You look incredible, Eds, you’re a dream.”

Something about his voice, deep and desperate, and his words, and the thick, heavy press of his cock inside Eddie make tears spring to his eyes, and he blinks them quickly, breath hitching. “It feels good, it feels really good. Richie, Richie—”

“You’re doing so good, you look so good. God, I want to come so bad.” Richie clutches at his sides, and when Eddie forces his eyes open, he sees Richie’s mouth hanging open, his head tipping back as he pants out quick breaths. 

“Fuck,” Eddie says, voice breaking as he tears his gaze away from him to tip his head back, eyes blinking furiously. “God, I thought about this so much, _oh.”_

“Me too, Eddie, all the fucking time, wanted you so bad this whole time.” Richie’s hand trails up Eddie’s stomach, to his chest. “You’re perfect, you look so good in my shirt sitting on my dick, you look like you’re _mine.”_

Eddie’s breath catches in his chest, and his next moan comes out like a sob. _God,_ just. Richie saying that, sounding like he _means_ it, sounding like he wants Eddie, Eddie can barely take it. “I thought you didn’t want this,” he chokes, before he can stop himself. 

“Eddie, baby, I mean it, I would have been happy without this, I would have been so happy no matter how I had you, but I want you _every_ way, any way you’ll have me. Ask for anything and you’ll have it.”

Eddie whines, and rubs at his eyes roughly, and says, voice thick, “Then could you fuck me, asshole?”

Richie barks out a laugh that sounds suspiciously wet as well, and then he cants his hips up and pushes his cock deeper into Eddie, and _neither_ of them are laughing anymore. Eddie moans weakly, and in a rush of lust he sits down fully, forcing Richie’s cock as deep as it can go. And it’s _incredible,_ he’s so ridiculously full, he can’t stop making embarrassing noises as he squirms with the sensation, feeling every single inch of him. Richie is scrabbling at Eddie’s sides desperately, choking out Eddie’s name, and Eddie can barely even process it, the feeling of it all. There are tears prickling at his eyes again, overwhelmed by the intensity of it, and he just sits there for a few seconds, both palms on Richie’s chest, head hanging between his shoulders, panting and revelling in this moment. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” Richie gasps. “Baby, I love you so much, you feel so good.”

Eddie makes some weak, pathetic sounds, and then rocks his hips, because as overwhelming as everything is, he also wants _more,_ needs more. The thick, slick slide of his cock inside him is everything, nudging against his prostate, sending waves of pleasure up his spine. Eddie moans with it, arching his back and setting a clumsy, undulating rhythm. He forces his eyes open again. 

Richie is staring up at him, eyes huge and shiny and amazed, mouth open in pleasure and awe, and Eddie has to choke back a sob at the feeling that triggers him. _God,_ he wanted this so badly for so long. And now he’s getting it, and it feels so _good._

He rocks his hips harder, and Richie moans brokenly. Eddie swallows, and lifts up on his knees, and Richie pushes up into him at the same time that Eddie sinks back down, and it’s _ecstasy._

From there, Eddie really can’t be held accountable for his actions. Something snaps in him, and he can’t hold back. He holds onto Richie’s shoulders and just fucking _loses it,_ hips working like he’s lost his fucking mind. Pleasure is building in his gut, and his thighs are burning, but he ignores it, mind buzzing with the feeling of Richie inside him, and Richie’s hands on his stomach, his chest, his hips. Eddie has some experience riding dick—he got a dildo with a suction cup base on purpose—but this is something else entirely, and it’s awoken something in him, something hungry and insatiable. He wants it deeper, harder, faster. He wants everything, all at once, but he also doesn’t want it to end and all he can do is ride Richie’s cock like his fucking life depends on it. 

“Eddie, please, Eddie,” Richie is saying, fucking up into him desperately, eyes wet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“More,” Eddie gasps, keening as they find a really good angle. “Please, Richie, more, more.”

“Yeah, yes, get up.”

Eddie doesn’t even ask, just pulls off Richie’s cock, and then moves to crush their mouths together, because he thinks if he doesn’t kiss Richie right now he’ll fucking _die._

“Yes, Eddie,” Richie groans, sliding his hands down Eddie’s back, slipping three fingers into him, like a bookmark keeping his place. Or maybe like he just wants to feel Eddie there, wet and loose. “Up, up, on your knees.”

Eddie groans, swings his leg over Richie’s thighs, and Richie guides him into turning around, down onto his knees, and then he settles behind Eddie and slides back into him, all at once. Eddie moans long and loud, face buried in his folded arms, and Richie just absolutely fucking _rails_ him. It’s everything Eddie ever wanted, long hard strokes that rock through his entire body, the kind of power he couldn’t get from riding him, nothing painful, just _strong._ He’s so fucking strong, and his breaths are hot on Eddie’s spine, a second before he starts mouthing over the sweat-slick skin of his back. Eddie sobs into his mattress, loving it, speechless with it. 

“Perfect,” Richie murmurs against him, fucking him so deep, so well. His hoarse voice is almost lost in the slap of skin on skin, and Eddie’s wordless noises. “You’re perfect, I love you, I’m so glad I get to do this, I’m so lucky, _shit,_ Eddie, come on—”

“Richie,” Eddie chokes, his sheets damp with overwhelmed tears and saliva.

Neither of them see Richie’s climax coming—it seems to lance through Richie between one thrust and the next, fast and hard. He makes a wrecked noise, hips stuttering, cock jerking, and Eddie gasps at the feeling of him coming inside him, wet and warm. Richie’s teeth press gently into his spine, and he whines out a pathetic sound, thrusting weakly, hands tight on Eddie’s hips. 

“Richie,” Eddie slurs, pushing his ass back against him, seeking more. 

“Fuuuuuck,” Richie says blearily, and then, “ _Fuck,_ Eddie, sorry, I’m sorry—”

“If you fucking leave me hanging again—” Eddie starts to say, eyes stinging with how badly he needs to come, but before he can even finish the thought, Richie is pulling out, so fast it makes Eddie sob. But immediately, Richie is manhandling him clumsily up onto his knees against, and then back onto his ass, propped up on his elbows against his pillows. Eddie doesn’t even have time to ask what he’s going to do before he’s sprawling on his stomach at Eddie’s side and fitting his mouth over the head of Eddie’s cock, at the same time that he reaches under Eddie’s bent knee, between his spread legs, and pushes his fingers into him where he’s loose and sloppy. 

“ _Shit!”_ Eddie says, one hand flying up to curl into Richie’s hair. “Shit, Richie, fuck, _fuck—”_

Richie grunts but doesn’t pull back for a second, taking Eddie’s cock as deep into his mouth as he can and sucking him off fast and messy. His fingers push in and out of his hole at the same reckless rhythm, fucking his own come back into him, and Eddie can’t _stand_ it, it’s all so much at once. 

“Richie, please, please,” Eddie sobs, and he has no idea what he’s begging for, only that he feels like he’s going to fucking die. Richie’s glasses are slipping down his nose, and his head is bobbing quickly under Eddie’s hand, his back flexing as he fingers him. The sounds of it are filthy, wet and obscene, and Eddie thinks he’s going to lose his mind. He can’t take it, he can’t— “Rich, I’m gonna come, _please.”_

Richie presses his tongue into his slit, and then pushes so far onto Eddie’s cock that his throat convulses around him, and Eddie comes at the same time that Richie pulls off, coughing. Eddie’s orgasm crashes through him like a fucking tsunami, pulling pleasure up from his toes, tingling through his kneecaps and wrenching through his chest, and Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and writhes through it, head spinning. 

He’s still groaning when he finally manages to open his eyes, his entire body throbbing. Richie has his head propped against Eddie’s thigh, breathing hard, and there’s come splattered across his entire face, glasses included. It’s absolutely disgusting. 

“Holy _fuck,”_ Eddie says, with feeling. 

Richie’s swollen lips pull into a grin, and he cranes his neck to look at him. “Uh huh.”

“What the fuck,” Eddie says, shellshocked. “Richie, what the _fuck?”_

“Is that a good _‘what the fuck’?”_

“I think you just sucked my brain through my dick,” Eddie tells him honestly, chest still heaving. 

Richie laughs, and it’s throaty and hoarse and _perfect._ “Payback.”

“Get up here,” Eddie says, as annoyed as he can be when he just had the best fucking orgasm of his life. “Get up here right now and make out with me.”

“My mouth is gross,” Richie says, picking up his head weakly. 

“Do I look like I fucking care right now?”

Richie’s eyebrows fly up his forehead—there’s come smeared in one of them. It’s fucking repulsive, and Eddie doesn’t give a flying _fuck._

Before he can find it in himself to, Richie is scrambling to rearrange, so that they’re facing the same direction again, and he’s pressing their mouths together in a weak, clumsy-mouthed kiss. Neither of them have any energy for anything else, and Eddie doesn’t care, thinks it’s perfect anyway, thinks he could live the rest of the life on the feeling of this lazy, fucked-out kiss. There’s come smearing from Richie’s nose onto his cheek. There’s come leaking out of his _ass._ He feels so good it’s ridiculous. 

“Fuck,” Richie breathes against his mouth, a blissed-out sound. He’s lying against Eddie’s body, half on top of him, and the weight of him is warm and grounding. “Was that good? Was that what you wanted?”

Eddie groans, trying to decide if he’s repulsed by his own come in his mouth. “Can you dial back the praise kink a little? I’m dead.”

“This isn’t my praise kink, this is me wanting to know if you’re feeling good about this.”

“Mmmm.” Eddie shifts restlessly—he’s really starting to feel that overenthusiastic riding, especially in his thighs. “I’m feeling _great_ about this, except the part where I’m sticky and disgusting.”

“Mhmm.” Richie kisses him sloppily, their chests pressed together—Eddie thinks he can feel the pounding of both their hearts. “I fucked you good, right? This _is_ my praise kink, by the way.” 

Eddie snorts, his entire body feeling light and floaty and well-used. “Yeah, Rich. You fucked me good.”

“Good.” Another kiss. “Am I in charge of aftercare?”

“Mhmm.” Eddie feels like he’ll fall on his face if he tries to get up. “Can you clean me up?”

“Yeah, baby, I can clean you up.” Richie takes off his glasses and tosses them to the side, and then kisses Eddie’s eyelids, and the tip of his nose, and the curve of his cheek. “You were perfect, by the way. I have never felt so good in my life.”

Eddie can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. “That makes two of us, then.”

“Yeah? Good. I love you.”

“Oh my god, you’re so sappy after sex.” Eddie laughs weakly. “I love you too. Now go get a washcloth or something.”

“Mmkay.” Richie doesn’t move, kissing along his jaw, back down to his lips. 

“Nnnngh.” Eddie catches his lips quickly, nudging his face up into it. He forces his eyes open, blinks up at Richie’s squinting, smiling face. “Thank you, by the way.” He swallows hard. “For...that.”

Richie’s eyes go warm and soft. “Eddie. It was my _fucking_ pleasure.”

Eddie grins back. “Yeah. Almost worth the wait.”

Richie laughs, a hoarse crack of sound. “God, I love you. Okay, I’m getting up.”

Eddie hums, watches him groan as he gets to his feet next to the bed. “Don’t go far,” he says, letting his eyes flutter shut again. “That was good, but I waited six months for that. You owe me.”

There’s a pause, and then, “Eds, baby, if you are proposing a second round, I must warn you that I’m forty years old, and that was the third time I’ve come today.”

Eddie snorts. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Richie sighs, but it sounds more blissful than anything. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

“Mmm. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He hears Richie laugh all the way to the hallway. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is dedicated to my VALENTINE and PARTNER IN DICK CRIMES, SAM, who drew this INCREDIBLE art for it!!!! [[nsfw!!!](https://twitter.com/THED0GARTS/status/1228404482343624704)] thank u i love u and u helped so much. also thanks to the group chat and also jade for holding my hand. happy valentines day, folks. 
> 
> [i really did intend to write a second round for them btw but this chapter WIPED ME RIGHT OUT. stay subscribed tho just in case i change my mind at some point.]


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